


The Crownless King

by Mythmaker



Series: Amor Fati: Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Destiny [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: "Oh No I'm Gay", Abusing Arthuriana Just Like the Rest of the People who Write Arthuriana, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Common Sense, Badly Timed Coups, Can't Have a Romance without Bromance, Canon-era Typical Violence, Character Deaths That Are Technically Canonical, Gen, Humor, I Will Not Be Heavy on the Descriptions For That Though, M/M, Magical Stewardship, Multi, Plot Diverges from Canon at about the beginning of S3 into S4, Romantic Realizations, Sir Uther Not Appearing In This Film, Warning for Mentions of Slavery and Other Abuses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythmaker/pseuds/Mythmaker
Summary: A looming political crisis, a long-standing promise of the Perilous Lands, and emissaries from Brocéliande forest call upon Prince (Regent) Arthur to respond with some kind of diplomacy while his father languishes and Morgana’s former schemes cast long shadows. In order to learn about their new allies (and potential enemies), Merlin is tasked to impersonate a minor Lord in a foreign court.Apparently other people don’t think this is an insane idea.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Amor Fati: Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Destiny [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920394
Comments: 46
Kudos: 186
Collections: After Camlann Big Bang, Amor Fati: Collected Works





	1. Fishing for a King

**Author's Note:**

> A huge, gigantic, overwhelming thank you to all of the magnanimous folks running the ACBB this year. You folks are truly lovely and you've put up with my life going off the rails mid-fic-writing attempt and have made it genuinely way less terrifying than I thought this would be. 
> 
> And another grateful bow to the folks on the Merlin Chatzy - to whom I can credit at least two title uses, including the name of the fic. 
> 
> And finally, a big mclarge huge thank you to CeeSaltSanctuary (on [Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeeSaltSanctuary) and [tumblr](https://ceesaltsanctuary.tumblr.com/), please lavish them with praise) for their timely and lovely efforts on the art side of things. She captured my brain-visions very well, and I look forward to everything they do in the future!
> 
> See all the art for this fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/After_Camlann_Big_Bang/works/26418487). <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein several people try to teach Merlin things For His Own Good and it goes about as well as you’d expect.

[ ](https://imgur.com/hSrG9ur)

There was, as far as he was concerned, a four-corner system to classify stabby weapons, as organized by blade length and handle length. For instance, the atrocity of thrown objects he was forced to weave through this morning were Lotta Handle, Little Blade, in his head.

Spears. They were spears. But it was important to understand that he never bothered to call them that.

Reason one: he never had the presence of mind to remember any name when one of them was heading in his general direction. Reason two: it bothered the absolute bollocks out of Arthur, and that was worth every purposefully stupid expression Merlin had ever had to conjure in his presence.

Point in fact, he was quite dumb about weapons. He was lazy about learning them well enough to tell them apart specifically because Arthur’s face would go a certain shade of puce and disbelief whenever he called something by the wrong classification. And Merlin lived to cause apoplectic reactions in the prince (regent), almost literally, on a daily basis.

Lancelot, being the shining example of humanity that he was, had been so genuinely concerned by Merlin’s incapability that he tried to teach him. In spite of Gwaine laughing obnoxiously at Lancelot’s declaration (he’d earned the shoe thrown at his thick head) Merlin was deeply touched, but also trying not to laugh his arse off when he explained _no I’m just being ignorant on purpose_.

The tables turned when Lancelot’s expression morphed from confusion to parental-levels of disappointment, and Merlin had to bend under the weight of that expectation or perish immediately.

He didn’t make the rules.

So he found himself polishing and sharpening various implements of death and protection, as was Arthur’s wont of him in the afternoons, and Lancelot was trying to explain how Merlin would be rather well-to-do with a pair of daggers.

“They wouldn’t take up much weight, and you could hide them easily,” Lancelot, guileless with his apparently dire need to arm the prince’s only surviving manservant. No really, none of the others had ever lasted as long. From the mouth of King Uther Pendragon himself, that tidbit. “And despite your amazing ability to destroy inanimate objects, I think you’d handle the required level of dexterity to operate them well enough to save your hide enough times to matter.”

“Not all times matter?” Merlin asked, quirking his lips without hesitation.

“Once, multiple times, is enough,” Lancelot confirmed, completely straight-faced.

A small smirk appeared on Merlin’s face. “I really don’t think I need to know – and where would I find the time to learn to wield them?” he countered instead, shaking out chainmail and inspecting the rings with care and possibly a little magic at the same time.

Human eyes did not always work that well. Merlin was a practical man.

Lancelot didn’t bat an eye at Merlin’s going a very brief, subdued gold. “We could find time. Surely your responsibilities won’t override the necessity learning some self-defense.”

Once he spotted a few loose and bent rings, Merlin set to work. “I’m a servant, I don’t need to know self-defense.” This was said idly, with the air of conversing about the weather.

Lancelot gave him a Look. It wasn’t the knowing one Merlin had grown to secretly appreciate (because Gaius’ Knowing Look came with an Eyebrow of Judgement and Merlin just didn’t need that sometimes), but instead one that set the knight’s lips into a flat line. “I’m afraid I have to disagree.”

Merlin returned the Look with an exasperated variant. “You know I can take care of myself. I don’t need to learn how a stabby weapon works – the pointy end goes in the other person, that’s about all I need to know.”

His long-suffering friend sighed, deeply, and rubbed his face with one hand. “I can see why the prince is prone to fits around you, regarding personal safety.”

For all of Arthur’s yelling and in-born need to criticize everyone around him (except his father, because One Just Did Not, Even Now), most of it was done out of pure exasperation and concern. This took Merlin a bit too long to learn, if he was being honest. Merlin, to Arthur, was an impossible creature who didn’t know how to stay out trouble, stay _in_ trouble _well_ enough, or just was never where he was supposed to be. He had said as much, multiple times, and had no compunction in letting Merlin know about his continual incredulity – loudly.

“His royal pratness can handle my ineptitude. He’s done so for years.”

“Does he need to?”

“What do you think?” Merlin tapped the chainmail beneath his fingers with a strange, delicate accuracy. He was purposefully avoiding giving Lancelot a glimpse of his current grimace. “Why the sudden interest in my well-being?”

“Sudden?” Lancelot’s tone bordered carefully concealed hurt.

Merlin leaned back like he’d conked his head on a bit of low-hanging wood. “Not – you’re – you – you don’t get to make that face at me,” he hurriedly insisted, waving one of his tools in Lancelot’s direction. Placatingly. “I just mean – specifically me learning how to actually fight someone. I’m not coordinated enough,” he continued to implore.

“I know why you’re not,” the knight spoke, very softly. To Merlin, the words rung in his ears with unnatural clarity.

“Even _I_ don’t know why I’m that bad with my limbs,” the so-called servant chuffed, trying to lighten the sudden tension he felt building around his shoulders. “Arthur’s been trying to beat me into a normal man’s competence for years.”

“Well he doesn’t know how much work you put into being average, does he?”

They’d danced around this talk for years too, Merlin thought with small drips of aggravation.

“Yes, please remind me about my gross abnormalities,” he muttered, without charity but also without any real heat.

Lancelot smiled, looking a little sad around the edges. “You have too many things happening under your skin, in the back of your mind. It takes up a lot more capacity than you might know.” At Merlin’s confused expression, he waved a hand. “Walking and talking at the same time. If I tried to balance a turnip on my head and joust, or sing a ditty and shoot an arrow properly, I would not be doing either one of those things to the best of my ability.”

Merlin staunchly refused to let Lancelot know that he was making sense. “…I’m not quite sure how _not_ to do multiple things at once.”

“You started young and never stopped,” the knight nodded, not fooled in the least by the nonchalant air Merlin wore like a cloak. “But perhaps you need to learn some focus. Or better compartmentalization. Either way, it couldn’t hurt. It’s why I think we should train you properly in another discipline. Maybe that way, your other balancing acts will become more orderly.”

“You really think so?” He felt stupid to hope to never trip over air again, if he could help it.

“It’s merely a theory,” Lancelot cautioned, but he seemed relatively certain.

The not-quite-a-servant-but-no-one-said-otherwise paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t a sign of frustration. Merlin simply had no idea how to respond to other people’s generosity in his direction. Gaius had Obligations, and his mother was his mother. When anyone else bothered, he went a big wet one and tried his best not to show how much it meant to him. Merlin wasn’t so disconnected to his emotions to not acknowledge this fact. As well though, he did consider his odd reputation as Prince (Regent) Arthur’s servant, friend, and occasional lifesaver (bodyguard didn’t quite fit, for obvious reasons). No one said the last one aloud. No one dared.

Perhaps it couldn’t hurt, if Arthur allowed it. Or perhaps even if he didn’t.

Damn Lancelot and his kind wisdom. As if he needed more work.

“You can’t laugh when I flail around and stab myself.”

“No promises,” Lancelot smiled wide and open, and Merlin couldn’t help but return the expression.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

“I haven’t lost it.”

“Oh? Oh, it just wandered off on its own then?”

“Considering all we’ve been through, it could have very well done that, _sire_.”

There was a spectacular thudding sound and a clattering of metal against stone; a short, indignant yell followed by: “That’s for using magic as an excuse for your incompetence.”

A little hissing sound emitted from Merlin as he rubbed his head. “You are righter than you know,” he muttered _very_ under his breath.

“What was that?”

The man had ears like a bat. And coming from Merlin, this was saying quite a lot. “Nothing sire,” Merlin chirped. “What’s got your pants in a twist anyway?”

Despite their previous bout, Arthur just scrubbed his own head, ruffling up his hair. “What, in addition to the near-collapse of Essetir and our other not-so agreeable neighbors fighting over the remains?” He snorted, then abated in his scoffing. “… A delegation from Brocéliande is on its way to us. I only heard about it today,” he grumbled. “So much for reliable couriers.”

The expression on Merlin’s face showed a neutral acceptance. “Oh yes. Brocéliande. Right. Makes sense.”

Arthur’s flat glare could be felt before it was seen. “Brocéliande,” the prince enunciated slowly, as if Merlin were as thick as stone, “is its own kingdom within Armorica. They travel across the channel to greet us, and I have no idea why.” There was a tic of irritation around the prince’s jaw and he rubbed his chin.

“No idea?” Merlin made a small sound of triumph when he finished rummaging under the bed and found the missing buckle that had caused their previous skirmish.

“We’re not – we shouldn’t be on good terms with them,” Arthur admitted, crossing his arms. “Brocéliande is an enchanted forest, and those who make home within it would not come to us without dire reason.” He almost looked tired when he said this. “I can’t help but be concerned by their approach.”

Merlin was still reconciling ‘enchanted forest’ and ‘kingdom’ and blinked rapidly. “Isn’t that a good sign? That they’d approach at all?”

“Well,” Arthur expelled, exasperation still riding the edge of his voice. “It’s not a platoon at least. They aren’t coming to war with us. But why come here at all? A land such as ours has been long enough hostile to magic in any form that they must know we would greet them with hackles raised. Even with my – with the king, as he is.”

Despite his very earnest listening, Merlin wasn’t sure when this started happening. Not the conversation at hand, but the ease with which the prince would engage him on such matters. Arthur would start by speaking to him with his usual, lightly insulting fare, and then the whole conversation would casually (d)evolve into state affairs. Merlin got sucked into answering, because he would always answer – but he was learning too.

Although, it was hard to respond on occasion. Especially when magic was involved. Arthur’s doubts about it were never far from the surface. Most of that, however, might have been from the notion that – after everything his father had done – there would never be magic used in Camelot’s favor again. The prince regent struggled with trust, and not just in this particular arena. Merlin had long-since known it wasn’t Uther’s poisoned opinions that had sat in Arthur’s heart. It was the reality of Uther’s legacy. Arthur was just trying to reconcile the two, and trying his best to be fair at the same time, even though he’d been given very little cause.

He always tried to be fair. It was why Merlin stuck around.

It was _one_ of the reasons Merlin stuck around, if he was being honest.

“Perhaps it was the king’s, mn, _imposing_ presence who stayed their approach previously. Maybe they are more interested in meeting you.”

Merlin kept his gaze on the buckle in his hands as he buffed it with his shirt, ignoring the semi-sharp gaze burrowing into the back of his head. He could hear the resigned look before the resigned sigh that followed.

“Likely. But it’s still an enormous risk, making a trip such as this with no guarantee of my hospitality.” The unspoken words lingered in the air. _My father isn’t dead._

“Maybe they think you’re worth the risk,” Merlin let the corner of his mouth quirk upward as he turned back around. “It’s not the first time that’s happened.” _And it certainly wouldn’t be the last_ , he thought to himself.

There had also been that incident with Elyan and the ghost of a druid child. Merlin was absolutely playing down the whole matter by calling it ‘an incident’ really, but nonetheless. It had resulted in Arthur making a deep, resounding promise – one Merlin had been hoping for. But frankly neither of them seemed excited to bring it up in conversation. It had unearthed too much pain to be the subject of casual reference.

As was usual, Arthur’s face crinkled at the notion that anyone affiliated with magic would want anything to do with him. “I’ll never understand why, but I will do my best to meet one peace offering with another.”

“Are you certain they mean no harm?”

“The courier’s message was very to the point. As well, even with all of the mystery, these are not people with a history of conflict. And our scouts have seen no evidence that they are armed for battle, with sword or sorcery.”

A dampening quiet settled while both considered the possible outcomes. Absently, Merlin handed Arthur the buckle, now re-belted, and with a similar air of pensiveness Arthur accepted it. Neither bothered to make eye contact.

“I mean…you’re going to have to tell your father that they’re coming, right?” Which was something Merlin hadn’t really meant to ask aloud, but now that it was out of his mouth, he regretted it. “Sorry, of course you are.”

Arthur’s gaze dimmed, just so. It was incredibly telling that he hadn’t snapped at Merlin for saying anything about it. “The message was already given. He didn’t seem to care, except for asking me to slaughter them on principle.”

It took a moment for the sentence to sink in. Merlin turned his gaze away out of respect for Arthur; he didn’t want to show any judgment. There was no love for Uther in his heart, true, but he wasn’t very familiar with living in a father’s shadow. He hadn’t had the time. Most importantly he had no idea of the particular weight when it came to attached to a crown – it was a torture he was happy to be ignorant of, no matter the hollow sensation it left behind to think so.

“I presume we’re not going forward with that plan,” Merlin ventured after a few beats had passed, briskly moving past Arthur to gather the man’s laundry.

“Mn, _no_ , I think not. For once, I feel no need to follow my father’s suggestion. Not without just cause.”

“ _Suggestion_?” Merlin couldn’t help ask, incredulity coloring everything from his tone to the upward curve of his eyebrows.

Arthur blanched, not so magnanimously. “As far as I’m concerned, there is a _reason_ I have been named Prince Regent,” the words sliced with a bitterness that had his servant wincing.

“Right.” Merlin sifted through his catalogue of distractions. “Well someone has to have, might as well be you, I suppose,” he nearly coughed the words out, in his hurry to also run out of room.

The loud clatter of metal on stone, and the shout that forewarned such calamity, was proof enough he’d been right to flee. At least he’d heard no pain under the outrage that time.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

Scouts had returned to him within a week of the initial pronouncement. They relayed the news that their magical visitors would arrive within a fortnight.

Arthur, after having had a bit of a whirlwind morning trying to sort out feasts, speeches, protocol, and security, resisted the enormously annoying urge to fidget.

In the time prior to this, he had spent equal time dreading this meeting, studying (at the badgering of advisors who were absolutely furious with him for greeting them without hostility, and Gaius, who had seemed fairly unfazed by the prospect), and attempting his utmost not to second guess himself.

His uncle was not helping.

“Are you certain you do not wish to have some sort of … protection?”

Arthur was tempted to say something sarcastic, but he was tempered by a lack of energy, and the fact that he felt like he’d be channeling Merlin right when he shouldn’t be. The younger man was a horrible influence, really.

There was something about Agravaine that soothed and ruffled his feathers simultaneously. Arthur knew, in his heart, that he wasn’t yet ready for a larger role in his kingdom. This – said aloud – would do no one any good. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t ready. He had to be, to protect his land, his people, and his father’s legacy.

And that was a bit of a crux there, that last one.

Not that he had anyone to discuss it with. Well, he did, and did not. He had potential advisors. He had his real advisors. His uncle, the barons that leased the land his father owned; these were people he was supposed to go to for counsel.

Instead, Arthur, with varying degrees of shame, did not. Or at the most, he talked to Agravaine, usually when Merlin wasn’t around. Then Merlin. Or Gaius. Or Gwen. Or Leon.

Or Lancelot. Or – hm.

Arthur tried not to think about the budding fact that most of the people he trusted were either blood-related or – astonishingly – friends. It was, painfully, exactly what his father always warned him against. And here he was, folding like wet parchment.

Life, as king or heir apparent, was treacherous. From the moment he was conceived he was in danger from possibly anyone around him. Uther had made a point of highlighting every single instance wherein a member of their own household turned against them, or had made attempts at the throne or their lives. He had often spoke after judgment, in that graveyard tone, about how this was why friendship and trust were not the same thing, and that the two could not be mistaken for one another. And the latter, of course, rarely used.

If. If his mother had been allowed to live, perhaps this view would have been softened some. But Arthur would never know.

“Uncle, I do not want any obvious show of force. I will take all precaution to make sure we are prepared for the worst.”

Agravaine’s face softened somewhat. “Your generosity does you no disservice, but I must insist we do more than that. Camelot is not at its strongest. Not right now. Whatever faith I have in you – sire, it is not a viewpoint others might share.”

He never expected his uncle to mimic his father in that belief, but then, Agravaine was nobility first. Technically so was he, Arthur considered, but he didn’t really care about that sort of thing. Not the same way he used to. The only reason he bothered to adhere to class rank was for what they provided in clear delineations of duty and power. People all had roles to fill, and some outlines were required. But not everyone lined up to fill them. Sometimes those outlines didn’t fit their shape.

Arthur realized he’d nearly completely surrounded himself with people who did not fit any their chosen outlines.

 _Of course they’ll praise your kindness_ , Arthur remembered his father saying once upon a time. _But they will not reward you for it._

The eponymous ‘they’ of course being literally everyone else in the entire world. Praise never meant much to Uther, and strangely – as Arthur aged – that became true for himself as well. In a different way, but still.

“I am prepared for that,” he assured his uncle, injecting confidence he wasn’t sure he felt. “You’ll assist with planning our protection. I trust you’ll know the best options.”

A peace offering, to get Agravaine to stop questioning him sideways. If his uncle really disagreed with the decision, Arthur would appreciate being told directly.

The man in question appeared resigned but did not contradict the order. “Of course, your highness.”

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

The entourage from Brocéliande arrived in immodest splendor, their cloaks and tunics colored in rich teal and an unabashedly royal purple. Fine filigree work had been done up in luxurious silver, and there were druidic symbols abound in every aspect of their wear. Strangely, no sign of the familiar triskelion symbol that was otherwise so common in their well-hidden neighbors. Instead, an encircled _Crann Bethadh_ , interwoven on a six spoked wheel, adorned their banners. It was incredibly Gaulish.

The delegation’s complete lack of fear startled the court. Arthur noted the wide eyes and whispering, and he wasn’t even trying to pay attention. If he was being honest, it had also caught him a little unaware, though he was trained not to show it. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were completing a siege against them – there were no explosions or flying weapons or lightning – they were just doing as they said they would: show up.

A stray thought crossed his mind. The mainland to the south must have had better luck accessing fine silks. Maybe he could set up some kind of trade deal. The last time he’d seen anyone even wearing silk was… ah.

Morgana always had excellent taste. Arthur rapidly wiped the thought of her from his mind. It felt like pressing into an old bruise.

The court was assembled as his father usually had done, though Arthur held no preference for who stood where after he got to the throne. People adhered to their old stations regardless, and Arthur wasn’t about to upend years of tradition just because he was Regent for the time being.

His rationale was on the edge of a knife, balanced between what felt like betrayal and responsibility. His father wasn’t gone, and he felt accountable to him and the kingdom. Arthur couldn’t afford to consider that perhaps Uther wouldn’t return from his current state. If he let himself think so, he’d open doors he couldn’t close.

“I bid you welcome to Camelot,” Arthur heard himself say. Unlike some of his court, he didn’t have to fight to stay composed.

“Prince Arthur,” the leader of the delegation pulled her cloak back. A woman of at least two score and some odd summers revealed herself with a deep bow. Her hair was a ruddy autumn red and her face freckled and pale. “I am High Priestess Gitta. We are deeply honored that you would grant us an audience, your highness.” Her accent was surprisingly thick – in the nose and just a bit huskier in tone than Arthur was familiar with.

[ ](https://imgur.com/mcjcwcG)

She gestured to her party, and the four others with her, bowed and held out what appeared to be offerings. Gifts – to Arthur’s deep surprise. “We bring you the finest of our spirits, our silks, and our knowledge, in gratitude for safe harbor.”

Even Agravaine seemed taken aback, in a positive way. There wasn’t anything quite like a surprise gift to win a stranger over. Arthur recomposed himself somewhat.

“I was surprised you wanted to meet.” There wasn’t any need to beat around the bush on that matter. “But I am glad of your visit.”

Before he could offer the usual ‘please stay for dinner and rest for at least a night, no really it’s no trouble’ the woman raised a hand.

“If I may be so bold: our message is one burdened with urgency. Might we announce our purpose at this moment?”

There was a susurration around the court. Arthur’s face, open and warm, did not shift an inch. “Of course. What news do you bring?”

Gitta turned her head this way and that, not so much trying to be subtle, but very brazenly – as if daring anyone to come out of the woodwork to try and stop her. It was an odd reaction. After a beat however, she sighed. “I … understand this is not a topic of conversation that would engender any good will to us here, in this moment – in this place – but it still must be said.” She took a bracing breath. “We need your help in reigning what you call the Perilous Lands.”

“Reining in?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, absolutely flummoxed by the request. “Or reigning of?”

“Yes,” she responded unhelpfully. “Your highness, you were the last person to see the Fisher King before he died. He has given you Stewardship, has he not?”

In the dead silence of the hall, Arthur was fairly sure he could hear grass growing outside.

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” he didn’t quite stumble, and she seemed surprised at his manner of address. “I was tasked with no such responsibility. I never met the Fisher King.”

He knew he was outing himself a smidge in front of people who had believed his hasty story from before. But Arthur was counting on there being further explanation before anyone noticed.

Priestess Gitta stared at him, calculating. Then she seemed further irritated, but did a fine job of burying the truth of just how much. “I will need to know more. You may be at risk if we do not find the true heir to the throne.”

Swiftly, this was becoming a conversation Arthur did not want to have in front of an audience.

“Are you saying Camelot is in danger?”

The woman shared a look with the man standing to her right, then nodded once, sharply. “I believe it could be, very shortly.”

Arthur stood, frowning in concern but mostly confusion. “It might be best if we speak privately.”

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

Gwaine was never a difficult man to find. Tavern, training field, or in literally anyone else’s quarters but his own. All of his knights had their own bit of land despite the fact that they were _Arthur’s_ chosen few and not on loan; he had wasted no time at all in ensuring this before anyone could get organized to object. But many of them preferred to stay close to the castle. Likely because of the paranoia. Paranoia that mostly emanated from Merlin; it seemed to have rubbed off on everyone.

Arthur wasn’t going to object – having had no end of strange, life-threatening, rule-ruining calamities over the last few years had set him a little on edge as well.

Thankfully, Arthur’s courier was fortunate enough to find Gwaine on the first try. The man in question arrived promptly at Arthur’s chambers, all raised eyebrows and vague amusement, and leaned his back against a wall without hesitation.

“I don’t usually get summoned like this,” he said by way of greeting, jovial at least.

Why did Arthur literally never get any respect from these people.

“Thank you for letting yourself be found in a timely fashion,” Arthur decided to say. “Have a seat. You’re not the only one I need to interrogate this evening.”

“Oh?” Gwaine seemed genuinely intrigued. “There’s to be interrogating?”

Arthur simply sighed, feeling more drained than he would have had he spent the entire day in physical training. “The Brocéliande’s – their high priestess has brought me some very enlightening news. News I apparently only had been half-aware of until now. I’ll need you to assist in verifying her claims.”

“What kind of news?”

“You recall my quest to the Perilous Lands, not too long ago.”

Gwaine tilted his head, and then, amazingly, took a seat. “Ah yes. A _lone_. All by yourself.”

Arthur rubbed one of his temples. “You were not _invited_. But fine. _Our_ quest. More or less. The issue, I’m discovering, is that there is… a step I am missing. Did you, at any point, run into the Fisher King while you were there? In any capacity?”

The knight pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “No. I was under the impression he’d been dead for ages.”

“So had I,” Arthur sounded disappointed and increasingly irritated. “Per the priestess’ account, he really had been alive the entire time, right up until we arrived. And then he was dead upon our departure.”

Gwaine squinted his eyes, teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Huh.”

The man wasn’t an idiot. He loved to act the part, but Arthur knew very well that Gwaine had a mind for high strategy should he dare decide to use it for such. This was difficult to eke out of him on a good day, so Arthur attempted laying verbal traps, waiting for the knight to fall into one and make Arthur’s life easier for just a few minutes at a time. The trouble was, Gwaine knew Arthur laid those out and sometimes would deliberately side-step those opportunities.

Arthur would never regret making the man his knight. He would likely struggle every day to understand why.

They shared a look.

“So.” Gwaine brazenly stole an apple. “Why is this concerning to our visiting magical entourage?”

“Apparently it has a new leader,” Arthur casually ignored the theft and meandered away from the table, rubbing his wrists thoughtfully. “A new king.”

“Brocéliande? Armorica?”

“No. The Perilous Lands.” He really needed the name of the old kingdom that once occupied that wilderness. Perhaps Geoffrey would have some old maps. He couldn’t just keep calling it that. “The Lands have a new king. But said king is not doing their due diligence. It is almost certain that we’ll have an encroaching magical forest of our own in a month’s time, unless said king decides to clean up their mess.”

“And Brocéliande approached us – “

“Because we were the last people. Or rather, I was the last person on record to have made it into and out of that treacherous place. They presumed – since I have the trident – that I had been the one to free the Fisher King from his mortal coil.”

“How did they know this?” Gwaine’s eyes were a lot sharper than his words. Arthur looked to him, appraising.

“She said their land was tied to them in a similar fashion. They received…omens.”

All eyebrows rose on that one. “Omens? That sounds accurate and trustworthy.”

Arthur didn’t want to say visions. Arthur did not want to think about Morgana.

“They put faith in it, and it has not steered them wrong. It’s not as if they didn’t risk their lives to come here to deliver their message to a kingdom not entirely disposed to treating the dwellers of a _magical forest_ all that well.”

Gwaine shook his apple in Arthur’s direction. “You make a good point. Guess it’s not too wrong of us to go out on a little faith there.”

No, it wasn’t.

Arthur had yet to tell his father the full news. He was not looking forward to doing that, and was, quite frankly, using all opportunities to stall, and think of what to say. Though he would contend that this particular investigation took precedence. It was no use reporting to his father when he didn’t have all the facts. He would keep telling himself this for the duration.

A realization was starting to settle on Gwaine’s shoulders. “And thus… they presumed you were the king they were looking for?”

“Quite.”

“Except neither of us ran into a nearly-dead man holding a trident while we were there.”

Yes, this was the conundrum, thank you Gwaine.

The answer they were dancing around was obvious. Arthur was busy biting back the idea as best he could, because his head was genuinely having trouble with the only remaining option on the table. It just – it was too big to fathom. Especially without the person in question present to vent his disbelief at.

“Have you asked Merlin yet?” his knight offered around a mouthful of apple. Psychic bastard.

“No. The idiot is, once again, missing. Have you seen him today?”

Gwaine paused his mastication this time before answering. “Lancelot cornered him after training. That was the last I saw of either of them.” He inspected the apple, feigning nonchalance. “I think our most noble Lancelot is trying to get Merlin to learn how protect himself.”

“Would that it be so simple,” Arthur allowed himself a distraction from the inevitable. “I don’t know how he still hasn’t figured out basic swordsmanship.”

“You tried?”

“I tried.”

“He just flailed around and complained the whole time, didn’t he?” Gwaine hit the nail on the head, and Arthur just grunted in confirmation. “Figures. He’s so awkward with a blade, but he’s never afraid to take one up. I suppose that counts for something.”

Per the man’s tone, Arthur had to guess it counted for a lot. At least, from Gwaine’s perspective.

“Maybe Lancelot will succeed where all others have failed.”

“He would, wouldn’t he,” Arthur muttered, feeling a tad uncharitable. Lancelot was a hard man to hate, and Arthur didn’t at all dislike the man. But he felt a little put out that he was able to win over the two people he’d unintentionally tucked into his heart with ease. It was personal and petty, and Arthur had long decided to sit on it rather than actually address it.

As you do.

The door to his chambers slammed open. “Sorry! I was helping Lancelot train a bit, you summoned me?” Merlin offered by way of greeting in his own way.

Again, Arthur wondered if someday the man would knock.

“Sit,” he decided to welcome in turn. “I have questions. And lock the door behind you, would you?”

This last bit caught Merlin’s attention, but he did so without question. “Is this about the delegation from Brocéliande? I heard you postponed the feast.”

“They came bearing strange news,” Arthur started slowly. “You recall my quest to the Perilous Lands?”

Merlin’s face closed for half a breath and then reopened with curiosity painted all over it. “Our quest, certainly,” he responded, all innocence.

Gwaine making a strange noise off to the left did not give Arthur much in the way of patience. “Yes – alright – fine. _Our_ quest.” The prince sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get right to it. Did you meet the Fisher King?”

This time, Merlin froze. “What?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Arthur said, eyes narrowing.

His servant, his friend, fidgeted just once, and didn’t look him in the eye.

Ah, hell.

“Merlin.”

“Yes – yeah. I did. Honestly I didn’t think you’d want to know. It was. You know. Very magical and all that.” Merlin sounded like he couldn’t believe he was still talking, and Arthur shared that disbelief.

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“I’m sorry! I should have told you – but he – I mean – he disintegrated after I told him why we were there and what we wanted. After he got what he wanted. I mean. It was an exchange – I just.”

“It feels very strange to leave that _out_ of the explanation for what happened behind that door,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “Don’t hop around. Start from when the door shut, and tell me what happened, _exactly_.”

After wilting in the face of that demand, Merlin did.

He explained that the Fisher King had been a perpetual state of mortal peril, inadvertently taking his former kingdom with him. And it wouldn’t let him go. The land he had tied himself to, in order to protect it, was now killing itself to keep him alive. Merlin had told the immortal king they were just there to retrieve the trident, and that they had not been prepared to meet a living, if fading, monarch.

The Fisher King had wanted to die, and had made a deal with Merlin – his death, for the trident.

“And you agreed? You just – you made a unilateral decision to commit regicide?”

“He wanted to die, Arthur,” Merlin said, for once sounding a little meek. They all simply glossed over the word _regicide_ , mostly because even Arthur knew it was a bit of hyperbole, all things considered. “He’d been alive too long. He was begging, in the most dignified manner I can imagine, for me to kill him.”

Arthur did not envy the position that had put Merlin in, but at the same time. “You didn’t think that decision was up to me?” he bit out, voice rising in volume. It was a trial to hide that this maneuver, this lie, had hurt him, and he was fairly certain whatever he was doing wasn’t working. “It was my quest, despite you two tagging along. I should have been given a choice.”

The other man flinched, and looked properly guilty. Arthur felt a stab of semi-vicious joy at that. “I’m sorry Arthur,” Merlin insisted. “He was just – he was properly miserable. I can’t imagine how much pain he was in. I didn’t – I genuinely didn’t think about much beyond that.”

“You should have,” Arthur said, somewhat callous, but then sighed deeply. “You’ve got a soft heart Merlin. In this case, it wasn’t necessarily your choice, and I deeply wish you had told me about this before now - but … with recent news, I’m a little glad it was at least one of us three who fulfilled that task.”

Arthur could feel Merlin’s eyes on him as he turned his back briefly, undoing his cloak and spreading it out on the bed.

“What do you mean?” This was said with such resignation, Arthur almost forgot his disappointment.

“He means that helping the Fisher King pass on to the next world was a prerequisite to being the next king,” Gwaine stepped back into the conversation, grinning wildly as Arthur turned back to face them both. Arthur had no idea why he looked so pleased. “By which he means congratulations! You’re a king now, welcome to royal living.”

Merlin’s eyes crinkled into little half-moons as he was startled into laughter. “What? Someone’s having you lot on.”

“I really,” Arthur emphasized this word with a slap of glove to table. “ _Really_ , wish that were so.”

His servant’s laughter faltered. “…No.” He sounded like he was still going to spill over into giggles, but there was a hint of genuine disbelief this time.

“Yes. King Merlin. How utterly ridiculous.”

Gwaine shifted. “You think he couldn’t do it?” To Arthur’s astonishment, the man sounded protective.

“I never said _that_ ,” Arthur sighed into his hands, manfully resting his face against his palms as he scrubbed it. “But the whole situation _is_ ridiculous.”

The subject of their conversation looked properly flummoxed. “You’re not kidding.”

“Were that I was. No, Merlin, I’m afraid – according to our visitors – you’ll have to take care of the Perilous Lands, because you are now, and have been, its anointed king.”

Merlin went pale, which was really the more appropriate response. “How do they know?”

Arthur tried _not_ to sigh this time. Repeating himself was going to give him health problems. “They have a similar connection to their own lands. It’s how they manage them and keep their home free of invaders. Of which there have apparently been many.”

“You trust them? They’re telling the truth?”

“I don’t know what they could gain by telling me that I’m a king twice over. Yes Merlin, they presumed I was the inheritor of this nonsense. But we both know I had no contact with the Fisher King. So they were really looking for you this whole time.”

“Buck up,” Gwaine nudged Merlin’s shoulder. “This is usually considered good news by most people.”

“But I don’t want it,” Merlin blurted, rocking back. “I don’t want it – I’m supposed to be here. To stay here, and help you.”

Arthur stared at him, and felt an odd mix of appreciation and pain. There was something about the way he said those words. As if he had some unimpugnable source that explained Merlin’s exact role in life, and broached no argument on the matter. For someone as free-willed and abrupt as Merlin, it felt odd to hear. Arthur had presumed the man would leap at being able to make a utopia for the downtrodden and lost – Merlin really did have a soft heart for those who suffered misfortune, and Arthur didn’t want to say he admired it. It was unrealistic and often proved nearly fatal, but Merlin kept on trying to think the best of people (except nobility; he had his biases).

Perhaps it was a weakness they both shared.

“I don’t have a plan for the future,” Arthur admitted, waiting a beat to collect his thoughts. “But according to their high priestess, the king of the perilous lands is the only person who can keep the wilderness in check. Apparently it’s getting out of hand, and will overrun its borders and threaten other kingdoms. I do not know the specifics of how, but this is an existential threat to Camelot, one way or another.”

Merlin’s jaw clicked shut.

The room’s third occupant cleared his throat. “I mean, if you can pass on the power once you can pass it on again, right?”

“If it might involve Merlin dying,” Arthur cut in, a little perturbed. “Then perhaps we can wait on that.”

There was some silence while his audience contemplated that possibility. “I didn’t know you cared,” Merlin added, as dry as ever.

“I did say I don’t have a plan for the future, yet,” Arthur ignored him, as determined as ever. “So I will accept the fact that you don’t want this, and will try to give this hugely important, life-changing power to someone you trust. Whom I approve of.”

“You need to approve of them?” Merlin asked, fighting a smile.

“Strike me out then,” Gwaine added, not bothering to fight his own grin.

Arthur glared outright this time. “In the _meantime_ , go speak to their high priestess. Gitta is her name. You know where the guest quarters are.”

“Wait – now?”

“Yes. The sooner the better. If they’re at all mistaken, they’ll tell us. But we have to be sure.”

His manservant looked incredibly reluctant. A small voice in the back of Arthur’s head insisted he sympathized.

“If you are who they are searching for, I expect full cooperation. But I also expect you tell me if they ask for more than you – or we – can give. I won’t have you tossing your life out for these people. I don’t care if they’re right about everything else. You understand?”

Merlin smiled with warmth. It was the sort of smile that made Arthur feel big and small at the same time. He consistently overlooked how much faith and loyalty there was in Merlin, who would support Arthur’s reign in less than a heartbeat yet in his next breath call him useless for not knowing how to scrub his own boots clean.

(He tried not to think about how much it meant to him.)

“Alright sire,” Merlin acquiesced. “I’ll stop by after.”

“See that you do,” Arthur added, a bit gruffly. “Gwaine?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Leave. And tell Lancelot and Gwen to stop by if you see them? We’ll need to fill them in on the details.” Leon had been present for the rest of it. The two of them had shared a moment of silence, with respect to the death of their peace and quiet for possibly the next several months.

Arthur watched both men hurry off (well, Gwaine sauntered, because he would saunter anywhere), and sighed to himself, falling backward onto his bed and grimacing upward at the canopy.

This was a disaster in the making, yet he felt strangely eager about its outcome.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

Merlin considered exactly what his life had become on his way to the castle’s guest chambers. Frankly he wasn’t a fan of the spotlight, so whomever was in charge of penning this particular sharp left turn into chaos could chuck themselves off a cliff.

Charitable, he was not. He had enough on his plate. The addition of a suspected _throne_ he was supposed to inherit was, in fact, unappreciated. It was rude, is what it was.

He furiously tried to feel out the connection, organic instincts taking over. Warmth swirled through him when he tried. It was so strange to be told something had changed and have no physical proof of it; strange in that Merlin did not believe it at all, and felt defensive for someone suggesting he didn’t know his own magic enough to notice.

Not that Arthur had any inkling that this was what the priestess was saying, but it remained the same message.

After eking out the full truth from Merlin, Arthur ordered him to talk to the priestess. On his own.

He winced, remembering the look on Arthur’s face. While the man hadn’t been snappishly upset, there was no doubt in his head that the lie he’d sustained ever since had done some damage. Which did not bode well for any other secrets he’d kept tucked close to his chest.

He could not go down that road right now.

The delegation in its entirety was made up of five people. Three women, including the high priestess, and two men, all of whom had more or less made themselves scarce after their initial introduction. Dinner was still being prepared, and most of his tasks had been completed, so Merlin couldn’t wiggle out of it. Not that Arthur would have let him, but putting this off had a tantalizing air about it.

He knocked on the door twice before he heard a call for him to enter.

Having not seen them when they arrived, Merlin had a private moment to be startled by their level of finery as soon as he opened the door.

Priestess Gitta was pale and red-headed, and stared at him the minute he dared make eye contact. Her hazel eyes widened. At the looks she shot her compatriots, they responded like she’d cracked a whip and hurried around Merlin to shut the door behind him.

“By the goddess,” she murmured. “How does no one see you?”

Merlin, whose brow had furrowed the moment he saw the others hurry to secure privacy, blinked at her in surprise. “What?”

No, really. “What? I’m not trotting around invisible, am I?” he asked this, turning his gaze away to try and catch anyone else, but they had their head’s bowed.

It was a joke, but also Merlin had no idea what she was intimating.

Gitta straightened to her full height. Which wasn’t impressive, all things considered, but she held herself well, and the regality was practically overflowing. “How have you been hiding here? Why?”

Why Camelot, indeed.

“I’m confused, er, m’lady,” he said instead, ignoring her question for the most part. How on earth could he answer a stranger with the full wealth of what he had hidden from everyone he knew? That wasn’t going to happen tonight. Ever. It wasn’t going to happen, ever. “Arth—Prince Arthur told me to talk to you? I was – I was the last person to see the Fisher King alive. He said that it was important that I speak to you further.”

He didn’t want to derail his own purpose. But she was still staring at him, looking dazed. “My apologies,” she started and then bowed her head. “We are taught from a very young age to see the true flow of energy between the earth, the sea, and the sky. Nothing is hidden from our sight. You’re…very bright.”

Huh. “Why?” he asked, like an idiot.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Gitta responded, and if he wasn’t hearing things, she sounded like she was trying to hold back a laugh. “But I have never seen your like before.” She treaded around him, circling and appraising. “I’m beginning to understand why the boon of the Fisher King was hardly noticed. There is so much…power.” She came to a stop, and then looked openly embarrassed. “My deepest apologies, your majesty. I didn’t mean to – I am the High Priestess Gitta. What are you called?”

“Merlin,” he said, because it was true. “Not ‘your majesty.’ It’s a pleasure to meet you?”

Per the history imparted to him via Arthur a day before these folks had arrived, they were complementary to the druids. Lived and sustained themselves in clan structures in a deep (enchanted, in this case) wood, a kingdom of their own making within greater Armorica. They were often sought for their ability to fix broken earth – or failed earth. Revitalizing soil and cleansing tainted waters. Obviously, there were some major differences: they hadn’t been _recently_ hunted for their magic, and they didn’t seem to talk in their heads. Their clothing told Merlin that they were not just powerful in their own right, but that the rest of Armorica kept them well-paid for their efforts at healing the land when needed.

And mostly to Merlin’s great delight, they hadn’t known his name. The other one, not _his_ name, in any case. Emrys. They hadn’t known that one, thank the gods.

The downside was that they could obviously see his magic. Unless he had something else going on. To be honest, he could never presume; Merlin recognized his unnatural ability to garner unofficial powers and titles via his Destiny, and Did Not Like It. It was hard enough being what he was, in general. More nonsense did not aid him when there was no one to teach him how to use such things.

“It is remarkable – how long have you lived here?”

If Merlin was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “For four years or so,” he answered.

“You’ve hidden yourself this whole time,” Gitta said, though Merlin didn’t feel she was expecting him to respond. “That – I cannot imagine how awful that must feel.” She looked to him, wondrous. “How are you still sane?”

“I never said I was sane,” he countered, feeling a little off-put.

Gitta leaned back as if she’d been poked in the forehead.

“Erm. Sorry. I just mean – um. Obviously don’t say anything to anyone here, please. But I’ve always had to hide and it’s no trouble. Unless you tell anyone. Then it’ll be trouble.”

She nodded once, thoughtful. “I know of Camelot’s laws. We came here prepared for a less tolerant welcome.” There was a hitch to her tone that implied she was understating her own trepidation. Merlin figured she was being polite. “Your prince is more accommodating than we expected.”

“He’s good like that,” Merlin said in a tone that accepted no other truth.

Gitta waved a hand. “Please sit. We do have much to discuss. But I am grateful we won’t have to explain magic to you.”

“You may have to anyway,” Merlin freely admitted. He never claimed to be well-learned; half of his attempts at anything were instinctual. “Pretend I’m an idiot.”

Bluntness was not something she appeared familiar with, but had no problem adapting to. Merlin approved of that, even if he was still very much not on board with whatever else she was here to propose to him.

Kingship. Him. Pfft.

“Firstly, I’ll need to feel the extent to which the bond reaches – if you even have one. I am keenly aware of what it feels like,” Gitta nodded to him, and rolled up her sleeves. There was a surprising number of scarring on her upper arms, but she didn’t seem at all shy exposing them. “Give me your hands.”

Merlin, who was not used to people being remarkably open about using magic _in Camelot_ (unless their plan involved killing someone), stared at her. “You’re … just going to do that? Here? You don’t want to head out to the woods?” he offered, if only for his sake.

“Nonsense,” she furrowed her brow. “It is a harmless examination.”

He grimaced automatically. “M’lady, sometimes – with me – it’s never just harmless. Or subtle. It’s usually not subtle. Whatever it is. Magically speaking.” Saying the word aloud made him have a mini crisis. It would be his luck that he’d be caught in the middle of Gitta’s once over and hauled off for execution.

What was stranger, was that he felt relief to admit it aloud. Even with Gaius he often veiled truths with coded words, or usually just ended up in an argument (sometimes benign, sometimes those exchanges made him want to punch things, even though the last time he’d actually had cause to punch someone he’d nearly broken his hand).

“Interesting.” The priestess still gestured for his hands to be placed in hers. “But I would not do myself any favors by being so obvious. I wish to remain unburned, if possible.”

He placed his palms on top of her own, reluctant.

“Culturally, Camelot’s court knows we might practice magic,” she continued, and Merlin felt warmth suffuse his fingertips. Alien, but not unwelcome. “But – as Prince Arthur showed us today, the only way to know would be to force us to prove those allegations or kill us in cold blood.”

She said it so nonchalantly. Merlin’s lips contorted in a frown. “But he did neither.”

“Precisely. The prince is wise. And that isn’t a threat from me; it is a compliment.”

The warmth crawled up his arms, almost probing. Merlin did his best not to sever the connection by fidgeting (or fleeing). “Why did you come to us? To Camelot, of all places? There are other kingdoms that border the Perilous Lands.”

“It was once called Elmet, you might recall. And yes there are others. But we came because we had heard tale of your prince’s quest, and we knew what it meant that he returned with the trident. The object itself holds no power of its own, but it is more of an omen – a conduit – a symbol.”

“A symbol of what?”

“Of power,” Gitta promised. “Brocéliande has its own as well, though it is not so easily carried.”

Merlin found himself feeling a little exposed, but once again urged himself not to fight it. One because Gitta appeared to know what she was doing, and two – he didn’t want to cause harm. He had no idea if he would, but it wasn’t worth taking a chance.

“What is your symbol?”

“A great oak tree,” she said, and looked him in the eye. Her gaze was awash in a faint orange-gold. “Older and mightier than dragons. As steadfast as the earth beneath our feet. It protects us as much as we protect it.”

It was here that the warmth began to fade from his arms, leeching back towards Gitta’s hands. Merlin’s own gaze held fast to hers, and she seemed to smile.

“You are quite special Merlin,” she said kindly. “And you are most definitely the heir to Elmet’s throne.”

Comfort fell away. “I can’t be.”

“You are,” she returned, sounding a little sterner. “And I can help you manage it. But the bond must be completed soon, or it will demand things of you rather than ask.”

Outrage may have crept into his voice when he asked, “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means you could put yourself, Elmet, and all surrounding lands in danger if you let yourself be overwhelmed by the connection. Come,” she offered her hand this time. “Speak _gefélniss_ and try to feel for it yourself.”

Mulish at best, Merlin let his lips twist and part, the words tumbling rough from his lips. It took barely time between inhalation and exhalation after that for the spell to do its work. The energy of the fading sunlight. The north wind outside, the ants in the grass. The birds in the sky. More importantly, he could feel a foreign, yet familiar spark inside of him, and realized it had been present for quite some time, lying dormant. His head filled with a yearning that wasn’t his own; an old sentience calling out to him from afar, and yet within.

It was not exactly a comfortable sensation. He shuddered and ended the spell, his will alone powerful enough to do so.

Gitta merely held her gaze. “Do you believe me now?”

Merlin grimaced. “…Yes.” The priestess opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “I need to get rid of it.”

She blinked. “I … why?”

Her voice carried no scorn, she seemed genuinely puzzled. Perhaps it was because he was turning down power and whatnot in favor of toiling away in obscurity. Perhaps it was something closer to home. Either way, Merlin couldn’t afford it.

“I can’t leave Camelot,” he clarified, feeling repetitive. “I have … obligations here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have greater obligations in this kingdom than ruling over another?”

Hm. Perhaps it would have been easier if she _had_ known him by Emrys.

It occurred to him, now, in this moment, that he had no idea how to explain his destiny to someone who had no inkling of it beforehand. This brought him some measure of anxiety, as he additionally grasped that this meant he had no idea how to explain it to Arthur – one day, hopefully, _maybe_ – either.

Maybe he could never tell Arthur about the rest of it. Maybe that was his hidden, desperate wish – to never explain to Arthur that he was loyal to him for secondary reasons. Because the man might completely ignore the ‘secondary’ label and presume it was the _primary_ reason for Merlin being in his periphery. For their being _friends._

He felt inordinately buggered by this realization.

Gods grant him peace.

“I need to help Arthur.” There was a visible struggle where Merlin attempted to find the right words in the clearest order. “It is very, very important that I help him be king of Camelot. Safely. That means he can’t die before then, which means I have to stay with him, to make sure he lives through the myriad attempts on his life by other people who are rightfully a little miffed about current circumstances. Which he had nothing to do with, really.” There – that should do it.

If the bloody dragon had laid this out clearly, he wouldn’t be here – Merlin was nearly absolutely certain about this.

The expression on Gitta’s face turned from confusion, to scrutiny, to disbelief. “You’re his … _secret_ protector?”

“Yes. Very secret.”

“You say it is important that Prince Arthur ascend to the throne,” Gitta parsed, obviously fraught trying to understand his purpose. “That you be the one to help him do so.”

“Yes.”

“Why you?”

Well. If that wasn’t the question he’d been asking himself literally from the moment he learned how to angst. (He was about three summers, to answer an unasked question.)

It took him some time to deconstruct how he could respond. There was no real answer, he knew – not one he could articulate. There was also no elaborate way to describe how his destiny worked when he barely knew what it was.

Instead of trying to do the impossible, Merlin shrugged his shoulders, a somewhat limp gesture. “I’m his friend. I know him well. He trusts me so far. If I can’t show him the true nature of magic, then who can?”

She tilted her head, eyes serious, and held his gaze for what felt like ages. Then she smiled, just a little. “I see.”

Blue eyes lit up in response. “So – yes. It is important I remain here. I can’t be split between two kingdoms, it wouldn’t work out.”

Gitta kept her smile, but there was a crease of worry in the mild furrow of her brow. “I’m sure we could give the bond over to another, but we cannot cut you free. Not now. Until you can secure another for such a task, I’m afraid you are responsible for it.”

“And what’s that mean, exactly?”

The priestess muttered another soft word of power. In the hollow of her neck, a light painted itself into shapes upon her skin. An oak tree entwined in the spokes of a wheel. “It means, Merlin, that without you to shepherd it, it will call you home to keep itself from harm. From harming what is not its own.” Her voice was gentle. Almost apologetic. “You are as tied to the land as it is tied to you. I fear it will likely call upon you soon if we do not visit to finish what the Fisher King started.”

Merlin stared. “And you would know, because you are tied to your land the same way.”

“I am.” The light faded. “I can carry the burden of failed crops, poisoned wells and waterways, while the land is healed. I can provide a safe haven for my people from all that would see them to ruin.” She held a hand over her heart. “There is no greater privilege. There is no greater sacrifice.”

The warlock blinked.

He sympathized with her. Really, he did. Additionally, he found her admirable. But their situations were entirely different.

“I was not given the opportunity to choose many things in my life,” Merlin said, trying to wring out every ounce of sincerity he could manage onto his words. “And this is yet another burden I did not ask for, nor want. I cannot give myself over when Arthur is not yet king, I’m sorry.”

“You choose your prince over Elmet. A man over a kingdom?”

He desperately refrained from saying ‘a kingdom of no one,’ and for once in his life, succeeded in keeping his mouth shut.

Mostly.

“For this man? Always.”

Gitta looked pained. “You would – ” she cut herself off and shook her head. “Alright. I would not be one to force you. But regardless, my statement remains true. Unless we physically go to Elmet, to sever your ties and give them over to another, you may still be held to the land’s whims in unexpected ways. Now that you are aware of your connection, your power might fluctuate as well.”

Merlin bit his cheek. “Well, you’d better stick around to teach me about it then, I suppose. It’s not like we have other pressing matters.”

For once in his life, perhaps Merlin could have not prodded at fate so obviously. Then it wouldn’t have had cause to come around and knee him in the groin the very next day.


	2. Philosophers, Poets & Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur has a brilliant plan, everyone helps, and Merlin revisits his expectations.

It was deep into the evening, long after Arthur should have been sleeping, when he received the missive. Another courier, who had been escorted directly to the kitchens upon arrival, because he’d looked wretched. He would have a place for the man to stay the night, as was custom.

After all, it wasn’t his fault that the letter bore ominous tidings. It was exactly what his tomorrow – er, today - needed, really.

Genuinely, he hoped everyone who needed to hear this was asleep.

“Thank you Leon,” Arthur tried to say with some measure of grace.

“Of course, sire,” Leon said, not mentioning how Arthur’s hair was making funny animal shapes.

As he had uncovered the thick parchment, he considered the words tucked away. It could have not been a simple message. This was a formal thing. Be-ribboned, bespoke, and sealed in precious red wax. Arthur knew, at this hour, in his life, it would not make him gleeful.

It did not.

“Essetir has a new king.”

“Lot?”

Leon paid attention, and it was a blessing. “Yes. He’s inviting us to a formal celebration.”

“Is he.” The way Leon spoke, it wasn’t a question: it was a sigh of resignation with words attached.

Lot was not so much an unknown as an unexpected turn of events. Arthur remembered the man visiting before he was considered persona non grata in his own kingdom for speculating too loudly about what he would do if he was king, instead of Cenred. There must have been an inter-family scuffle after the business with the _undead army_ , and Morgause.

 _Don’t think about Morgana_.

And now he was a king. Self-proclaimed, which always seemed to be the weakest of proclamations when it came to regency, but nonetheless it looked like he’d been rebuilding the mess that Cenred had left behind when he struck out to destroy Camelot. Hence the half-year it took before they’d received such an invite.

Essetir might be returned to its former glory. It had been more powerful than Camelot; it had certainly been around longer. Arthur, carried on the waves of suspicion his father generated and the history of Essetir’s not-so-well-hidden relationship with certain unsavory trade practices, grimaced as internally as he could manage.

“I must speak with my uncle,” he tried to say this with vim and vigor, but really just sounded like he needed a nap. “And my father.”

“Certainly, sire.”

Agravaine wasn’t so easy to rouse, though he looked far less grumpy about it when Arthur delivered the invitation.

“Did you ever meet him?” Arthur asked as his uncle pored over the elegant invite. The man seemed to be hunting for something, but if he didn’t find it by this point, Arthur wasn’t sure he would ever.

The man shook his head. “No. By the time I was secure enough in my station to visit Essetir it had already been driven into the ground. Cenred saw to that.”

“I want to respond in kind, but I have no way to know if he shares his brother’s inclinations.” _Towards getting handsy with Camelot_.

“Alas, it is murky.” Agravaine had a habit of twisting his lips when he was pondering a conundrum, especially one he knew he wouldn’t have a good answer to. Arthur’s vague memories did not give him much to work with in regards to unlocking all of his uncle’s quirks, but he was relearning them now. He knew, for the most part, that while Agravaine did not have a lot of love for his father, his mother’s memories were enough to sustain his loyalty and friendship with her son.

He thought so anyway. Part of him craved Agravaine’s approval and guidance, with his father so lost. Another part of him shunned the notion that he needed it. Arthur tried not to think too long on why.

“I want you to go ahead of me to answer this invite. Just by a day. I will follow behind you.”

“You shouldn’t need to go at all,” Agravaine sighed, as if lamenting. “I never wholly agreed with Essetir’s fair weather attitude towards magic.”

“It is, ah, acceptable there?” Arthur asked, feeling vaguely like a liar for asking. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because his own heart didn’t care so much if they did.

“Rather,” Agravaine spoke in dry tones. “And I wouldn’t have you risking yourself there. There is a reason your father never felt inclined to assist Essetir, or tried to deal with Cenred. They were always very lenient – or outright welcoming – towards sorcerers. It puts you in danger just going.”

“I can’t risk not going,” Arthur said, characteristic stubbornness and his inner diplomat finally seeing eye to eye on something. “They would immediately see it as weakness.”

“But what about Camelot? You cannot leave it defenseless.”

“I am entrusting a few key people to manage things while we’re away.” Arthur was still deciding who those people would be, but no matter. “And I don’t plan on staying in Essetir long.” He tapped his chin. “Which is why you’ll go ahead. Send word to me when you arrive and let me know if it’s really worth our time.”

Agravaine did not very enthused by this plan. “The Brocéliande contingent are still here as guests. It would be incredibly rude – and dangerous – to leave them here unattended. I may not trust them, but I would rather them not be offended either.”

That was a good point. “I can invite them to join me?”

Now his uncle looked exasperated. “Arthur – sire – there is a time and a place to announce alliances. And we aren’t really considering those foreigners as a secure prospect? They go against everything your father stood for.”

Perhaps it was because he was more tired than reasonable, or perhaps – with Merlin’s predicament in the forefront of his mind – Arthur felt a growing irritation at this statement.

“My father stood first and foremost to protect his people from threats of all sorts. Magic was but one of them.”

Agravaine looked particularly skeptical. “He waged a war to rid his kingdom of magic. I can hardly ignore the bias. Which he is wiser to have, if I may say so.”

Well. His uncle could say so until the cows came home. It still didn’t change Arthur’s mind. Nor his heart. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take that chance this time. They came to us in good faith, and have only helped us since they’ve arrived.”

“About what, exactly?” This time Agravaine sounded a little snippy himself. “I understand it is not _entirely_ my place to inquire, considering how you’ve made the purpose of their visit rather private. You haven’t brought their business to your council of lords, nor I, and it is causing no amount of unrest.”

“Let them fret.” Arthur’s response fairly leapt out of him, snarling – he did his best to not look so surprised at himself. There was a moment of sheepish silence, and Agravaine waited on him with a raised eyebrow.

“They’re here because they were concerned for our safety,” he finally clarified, unwilling to sound shamefaced. “I have investigated further and we have found a solution, but they will remain with us as advisors on the matter until it is resolved.”

“What matter?” Agravaine asked, not at all bothering to hide the arch to his voice.

“The kind of matter that has no bearing in front of the council. What do you know of Elmet?”

“The Perilous Lands? Home to the Fisher King, or so it was before you arrived. Was that not your quest?”

The fact that Quests of that sort (the kind given to prove worth and chivalry) had long since fallen out of most kingdoms’ practices was telling. Arthur had not actually fought his father on the matter because some battles weren’t worth fighting. The man had his preferences and biases and most were things Arthur was happy to bear if it meant keeping Uther from getting flinty-eyed at too many crop failures or being bored enough to lend an ear to anyone willing to abuse the man’s stance on magic for their personal gain.

He had been fifteen summers when he learned to admit that his father was easily untethered by the mere mention of magic. He had led his first slaughter by then and had seen what Uther’s true enemy looked like. And it was not in the form of a druid child.

Agravaine had not been around for much of this. Perhaps he still thought Uther’s causes had merit.

“Yes,” Arthur finally replied, shaking off a notion that he was trying to avoid anyway. “They’re here because Elmet seems to be in some sort of magical upheaval and would encroach on our borders with its chaos.”

His uncle now openly stared. “And this isn’t something you thought would matter to your vassals?”

“We have a little time to sort it out before things become too dire, and King Lot needs an answer first. I don’t want to risk a perceived insult that could have us answering for it in blood.” Agravaine looked skeptical, so Arthur continued. “I don’t trust magic or men to be reasonable on a good day, but if I had to place bets on what I’d rather deal with – magic comes last, men of power come first. If only because the latter are far easier to appease.”

Sighing through his nose, his uncle shook his head. “Do you trust these people from Brocéliande to be telling you the truth? In regards to the level of urgency?”

“If they wished to catch us off guard, it is a little late for an ambush,” Arthur’s voice finally hit levels of wry appropriate to his actual mood.

Agravaine still maintained a sour look, brow furrowing even further.

“It’s why you should go ahead of me,” insisted Arthur. “Lot will have to accept that I have visitors, and they need to be seen to first. A small delay will not harm his mood, I expect. Your presence will ease his concerns.”

Irritation bubbled under his skin. Agravaine would have him negotiate for approval rather than accept the time for discourse had long since passed. Now it was no longer a suggestion.

The older man seemed to catch on to the fact that Arthur wasn’t asking for an opinion. “As it pleases you. I will send word by courier as soon as I am received.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

Dawn was highlighting the hills and lower town by the time Arthur had an Idea.

He hadn’t slept. There hadn’t been time for it, really, and it wasn’t the first sleepless night he’d had of late.

Regardless, Arthur finally had an actual plan. He’d spent most of the night before reconciling new truths, and inevitabilities. Admittedly his headspace had been preoccupied by Merlin’s situation even with Lot’s invitation looming over him. Despite the mild embarrassment he felt about it, he’d found a decent – in the interim – solution.

Explaining his plan was a little fun. If by fun, Arthur really meant excruciating.

“Did you talk to Priestess Gitta?”

“No. Yes? Yes. I talked to her.” Merlin nearly twitched out of his skin as he answered.

“You don’t sound sure about that.”

A put-upon sigh. “Yes, I spoke to her. She confirmed everything.”

“And?”

“And I’m not … I can’t leave – I mean – I don’t even know what _connection_ she’s talking about. I haven’t felt it this entire time – how can she so sure?”

He looked so unnerved. Arthur wondered why the topic of magic either silenced Merlin like a miracle or made him unreasonably antagonistic. As Uther’s son, and as someone who had been mostly on the receiving end of Bad Times when magic was involved, his own views were actually less of a mystery. Or at least he hoped so.

To clarify: he did not trust most sorcerers or witches a single iota, but he knew it wasn’t as his father claimed it was. Corrupting influences on a man’s soul did not narrow itself to magic. Power did just fine. So did the occasional misplaced trust or adoration.

Lurking in the back of his mind was the fact that if Gitta was correct, Merlin was someone who could – and would – wield magic, if he was to keep a handle on the wild land. Arthur tried to find outrage or outright fear, but it just wasn’t in him. This was _Merlin_. A minor spark of wariness for the unknown was all he could muster.

In any case, Merlin swung like a broken weathervane on the topic. Arthur opened his mouth to get a concrete answer before realizing he was letting himself get side-tracked, and clicked his jaw shut.

“Besides, I’m not leaving your service. I’ve done loads of work to keep you safe and I’m not about to stop just because a priestess says I have some kind of _magical tether –_ ”

Arthur hopped in, a mixture of smarmy that his idea would mitigate this problem, and relieved that Merlin wasn’t so thrilled about his rapid elevation in status. Somewhat. Probably. His thoughts were still in scaffolding. “You’ve heard about Essetir by now.”

The sentence interrupted Merlin’s ranting. “Er. Yeah. Sir Leon filled me in,” he looked concerned, shifting gears obviously to consider Cenred’s former kingdom. Arthur noted he always used proper titles when Leon ever came up in conversation, or was present. He had to learn how Leon managed that. “When are you planning on leaving?”

“In the next few days. Merlin,” he paused. Blinking away the sudden apprehension. “I was going to ask if you were interested in joining us in a different capacity, considering,” he made a vague gesture. “Your new responsibilities. The Brocéliande delegation will be joining us, and I considered that you’d need to learn more about what the Fisher King actually gifted you. Two birds, one stone and all that.”

He said this all with a little more verve than usual, words hasty. Mostly because he could see the sputtering that would inevitably proceed his suggestion. It was forming on the high points of Merlin’s cheeks.

“You could join their entourage. Lady Gitta will assist in teaching you, and it will give a cover to any odd things that could occur.”

Merlin stared at him with an expression of carefully constructed blankness, even as the red reached the tips of his ears. “…Odd things?”

It was Priestess Gitta’s voice, urgent, in his head. Reminding him of the strange ways the connection might manifest itself when unchecked. “…Odd things. You remember what the priestess said. She warned you, yes?”

That normally expressive face remained steadfastly empty of emotion. Then his eyelids dropped to half-mast. “You really believe I’m suddenly a magical king.”

“The woman would not have come all this way, without knowing if my _father_ would be on the throne, to deliver us this news,” Arthur felt like he was repeating himself. When had all of his most loyal subjects turned into paranoid bastards?

He was likely looking at the culprit. Merlin really had done a number on them. (Then again, it wasn’t like they didn’t have good reason.)

“They wouldn’t have revealed themselves as obvious sorcerers to the court if they didn’t feel it was important,” he continued, words coming out surprisingly soft. “What would they gain by telling us otherwise?”

 _Fall in with me,_ Arthur didn’t say. _I need you to trust my judgment_.

Merlin stared back, eyes widening just so. Then he gaped. “I – wait. Are you suggesting I _pretend_ to be part of their court? To _learn_ – I mean – to learn _magic_? From them?”

“To learn whatever it is she’s hoping to teach you, magic may or may not be involved,” Arthur said hurriedly.

“Am I really hearing this from you? Are you well?” Merlin squawked.

“I just think you should consider the implications,” insisted Arthur, obviously not considering the implications. “The opportunities.”

“Are you out,” Merlin reiterated his train of thought. “ _Of your mind_?”

The prince – the one in the room who technically wielded ultimate authority, barreled onward to avoid further outrage. “Your status – your role – has changed; you said yourself she was telling the truth. You’re going to have to learn what they have to teach you at some point.”

Arthur was very certain it was actually the first time he’d ever seen Merlin’s eye twitch like that. What a fascinating experience this was turning out to be.

“No. I don’t. Because I’m not the king of whatever. I’m not a lord. I’m just me. Former farmer. Current manservant.”

“Pain in the arse.”

“Right,” Merlin barreled on, which should have deeply disturbed Arthur and yet somehow just made this entire situation more surreal. “Last person who should be ruling over anyone, that’s me. Isn’t there some kind of Right of Kings we’re ignoring here?”

“Since when have _you_ given a single ounce of a shit about the Right of Kings –”

“Since about when someone told me I was inheriting a whole kingdom by obliging a _very_ old man to die!” There was a pause. “ _Peacefully_.”

“Terrifying,” Arthur managed, struggling to maintain not laughing. “Look, Merlin –”

“I can’t believe he didn’t at least explain,” Merlin continued to speak as though Arthur were barely present.

“It’s magic, Merlin, I’m sure normal rules don’t exactly apply.” The Fisher King had been, per Merlin’s descriptions, very cavalier about it. Had the man assumed Merlin would just, _know_ what was happening? Arthur found the whole thing frighteningly hilarious; he had to, or he’d just succumb to disbelief and have to lie down for a bit.

“And _whomst_ ,” Merlin continued, like he hadn’t heard a single word. “Would I be ruling over? There’s no one _in_ the Perilous Lands.”

“I’m sure I don’t know, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur retorted, now irritated. His great idea wasn’t even being considered. It was incredibly rude; his plan was solid gold. “I’m not sure what you think is going to happen. You can’t unring this bell. If the priestess is right, then the wild lands will start to overrun our borders, and quickly become everyone else’s problem. You have a duty to protect it and all of the kingdoms that border _from_ it. Which does include Camelot, I might remind you.”

Around the word ‘duty,’ Merlin’s face did an interesting thing where it scrunched up like he’d eaten something sour. But it smoothed out so fast, Arthur didn’t have time to catalog it. He frowned heavily instead, and his lips twisted. There was a self-deprecation in this look that Arthur considered rare for Merlin. The man was hardly one to be deliberately cruel to himself – not outwardly anyway.

“…You don’t think I can actually do something like that, do you?”

Arthur considered him, and deftly avoided a direct answer. “I know if you won’t, you’ll find someone who will. And will likely do it well. But in the meantime, you’re a king.” There was a pause, wherein Arthur realized he’d admitted to the fact that Merlin was a decent judge of character. He decided not to acknowledge it. As well, that he’d realized he was standing in front of an equal, not a servant. Arthur could feel his face shift from knowing to uncertain. “Technically you outrank me.”

Years ago, this understanding would have chafed until he’d bled. For some reason all he felt now was sympathy and a little glimmer of something else. Something indefinable.

“What, just because some king didn’t let me know there were terms of agreement to go with the whole ‘allowing him to _die_ ’ bit? Not a chance.”

Exasperated, Arthur spread his arms out, palms upward, as if laying an invisible offering. “Merlin, it’s not going to just go away.”

“I could … maybe pass it off to someone we trust,” Merlin offered, almost gentle, and Arthur shook himself free from the sudden mire with a wry grin. How very like Merlin.

“Maybe,” Arthur admitted, with a small shrug. If it had been passed off once, it could be done again. However, if it involved Merlin dying to do it, Arthur would probably do something very brazen to prevent such a fate. “But that would take time to figure out. Time, which at the moment, we don’t have.” He said this with ease, but the inside of him curled around Merlin’s suggestion with an insecurity he did not expect to feel. Kingship wasn’t just something you handed over. And the repercussions of Camelot arranging such a thing would not go over well with anyone. Literally, _anyone_.

“Regardless,” Arthur was decidedly still unnerved by the idea, yet he pushed forward anyway. “I think you would do better as my ally, not my manservant, for our venture to Essetir.” _For the time being_.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving your side either way, sire,” Merlin offered with a little twirl of his wrist and grin familiar enough to bring Arthur some relief. They’d cross all the other bridges when they’d come to them, he supposed.

“Well you’ll need a new name.”

“Wait – what – a new name?”

“Obviously. And any other disguise we must heap upon you. I will not have our vassals peck at you like vultures. They cannot know you from Adam.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, as if his was the patience was being tried. “No one in court actually knows what I look like.”

“Yes they do. You’re with me every day.”

“Arthur,” Merlin iterated, “no one in your court actually pays attention to that sort of thing – I’m sure I don’t need to do anything drastic.”

Prince Arthur – mentally reminding himself that he was, in fact, a prince in this situation still – sighed. “Not everyone is as oblivious as you are.”

“I’m the _opposite_ of that thank you,” Merlin insisted, rather snootily all things considered and despite the open look of scorn Arthur was so generously providing him. “I just think you’re taking unnecessary steps.”

To his manservant’s credit, Merlin didn’t quite look like he believed what he was saying. Not entirely. Arthur happily jumped on it. “I promise you; I know what I’m doing. You will need anonymity.”

He earned a deep look of skepticism for his earnestness.

That was uncalled for.

“Is Guinevere allowed to help?”

Arthur certainly wasn’t going to pick out clothing for him. Of course, she was.

“Then it’s fine. I trust her.”

Oh, _that’s_ nice.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

Merlin would have rather taken further lessons with Lancelot than tell Gaius what was going on.

In fact, he _had_ , out of sheer avoidance, and possibly more than a smidge of denial, decided to let his friend attempt to show him how to use a staff. In lieu of explaining to Gaius the truth of Brocéliande’s visit, he’d willingly put himself through physical exertion and mild blunt force trauma.

Truly, he amazed himself.

It was mostly because he had finally found reason to feel ashamed of a gift, not proud. This wasn’t like the incident with his father. There was no bloodline fulfilled, no exhilaration of discovery. Not even the agony of inescapable loss. This was more like finding out he’d had a leech on his backside for a month and he’d not even noticed, and no one had bothered to tell him.

Alright perhaps that was uncharitable, but Merlin wasn’t exactly in a great mood. In spite of Priestess Gitta’s assurances, he knew Elmet wasn’t waiting for him. Maybe it was at the moment – but not forever, of that he was certain.

Gaius hadn’t been present when the delegation had first arrived, out handling a delivery whilst Merlin was being emotionally blackmailed into self-defense lessons. A literal delivery, of the wailing infant sort, which was why they were two ships passing in the night for a while. It happened on occasion when both were far too busy for anything but sleeping in the same space.

Except in this case, it was absolutely aided by Merlin nearly fleeing the vicinity whenever Gaius was within glaring distance.

Surely he’d heard from Arthur or Leon about what had happened by now, Merlin told himself (in a distinctly high-pitched voice that held so much false innocence it was embarrassing).

Alas, no. Gaius merely grunted at him as he entered their abode. Merlin was covered in dirt and grass stains, and a nice goose egg that was forming on the back of his head. At least Lancelot had actually sounded positive about their attempts today.

_“You have a lot more grace when the object you’re wielding isn’t sharp enough to cut you.”_

Lancelot always had a lot more optimism than he probably should. It matched up with the recklessness that lay beneath that handsome, do-gooder surface. No one believed him, except perhaps for Gwen, but Lancelot might have a more terrible streak of jumping into danger than Merlin did.

That was saying a lot.

“Gaius?”

There was a shuffle. “Yes, Merlin? Are you offering your time for once?” he didn’t sound stern, so Merlin dared to smile a little.

“Erm. Not quite.”

When laying out, step by step, the story of what had happened, Merlin did his best to keep himself from veering off onto tangents regarding fairness, how magic was ridiculous, and that perhaps destiny could shove itself into somewhere dark and uncomfortable and leave him alone for a week or two.

He didn’t always succeed, though he was viciously brought back down to earth with every sharply raised eyebrow each time he started venting.

“So, that’s why they’re here.”

Gaius was taking this with more aplomb than Merlin certainly was. “Yes – that’s why – look, you don’t actually expect me to go along with the whole Being King thing, do you?”

“Unless you have grander ambitions, I don’t think you should, no,” Gaius said, dry as ever. “Unless you want to accept such a mantle, or see the boons inherent.”

“You sound like you want to convince me.”

“Hardly. You would need at least a year to prepare on how to run a kingdom, much less how to rule one. I mean no offense, but you were not born into those expectations. I don’t think you’d be the right man for the job. Not yet, in any case.”

“None taken, at all,” Merlin waved a decisive hand. “Though I don’t think the Fisher King saw that. Not that we had a chance to talk about _his_ decision.” The bitterness was still strong, like one of Gaius’ stranger concoctions sitting in the back of his throat, punching his nose.

The old physician sighed, and leaned forward. “I have faith that this will pass without causing too much chaos. But I am more concerned with what should be done with this power when it is no longer under your stewardship.”

“Well. Uh,” Merlin floundered. “Good…point.”

“Did Prince Arthur have any suggestions?”

Oof. “None that I’ve heard. He wasn’t happy I lied, Gaius.” And that led him to his next point. “And – _and_ – he wants me to go with him to Essetir.”

“Well, that’s not such an outlandish request.”

“As part of the Brocéliande delegation,” Merlin finished, stressing each word individually.

Gaius blinked. There was a satisfying, lengthy pause before the older man closed his mouth. “Oh my.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I admit,” Gaius’ face seemed to twitch. “You’ve caught me off guard. I would have never expected such a plan from the prince.” He seemed to reconsider. “Well, not before he met you, I suppose.”

Merlin balked. “Are you blaming me for him losing his mind? You know what he’s essentially asking, don’t you?”

“I can make a safe deduction,” Gaius said, sobering. There was a moment of silence before he stood, taking his time before moving towards one of his ongoing brews. “The question is, do you want to?”

“When have I ever been asked that?” Merlin muttered to himself, lying back on the bench so fast his head bounced a little.

“More often than you think, though I’m sure you don’t know it.” There was a small splash and the sound of stirring liquid. “Prince Arthur may order you around, but he knows you now, and unless provoked otherwise, would never dare ask you to do something he thought you couldn’t. But more importantly, you always have a choice Merlin.”

As Merlin tilted his head in Gaius’ directly, he viewed the man sideways, watching him shuffle back toward him. “You have a choice to stay or go. To serve or surrender. It might not feel like a choice, what with old men like me trying to keep you alive, or larger personalities telling you they know your path better than you do,” the word _dragon_ was not used, but both of them knew who Gaius was talking about. “Or even the druids, with their prophecies. Which I am partial to consider as very real in and of themselves.”

“But?”

“But it is still your life, Merlin.” A part of him hoped he was imagining the look of melancholy on the old physician’s face. “And if I played a part in making you believe you have no choice, I am sorry.”

Oh he hadn’t meant for the conversation to go like this. “Gaius – you and I can disagree on many things, but you’re not keeping me here against my will,” he sat up quickly, making himself a little dizzy. “Come on, you’re family. Guinevere – even prince prat,” he said in the most disaffected tones he could muster, probably fooling no one present. “All the knights – even Cook.” That wasn’t her name, but Merlin had never not called her that from day one. “I’m here because I believe in all of you, and you – for some reason – like me. Most of you anyway.”

Merlin rubbed his neck, nervous for admitting what he felt should have been obvious. “I’m here because I believe a better Camelot is possible with all of you. Arthur, of course, being a bit more prominent in the whole ‘ruling the kingdom’ bit. You all make him better, and as long as he trusts you to trust him, he’ll be fine.”

“And you.”

“Eh?”

“You make him better. More importantly, you make him want to be better.”

Merlin did not _feel_ like this was entirely true. “I’m just there to remind him not to be a prat. Anyone could do that job.”

“Not if he didn’t actually like them, I suspect.”

“I’m a bit more necessary when it comes to stopping completely sympathetic murderers thinking they can hurt Uther by killing Arthur in new and vastly horrific ways,” Merlin grumbled.

“You give him too little credit. He is your friend, I should think.”

He was Merlin’s friend. Yes. He was a bit more than that, in a cosmic sense. And a bit more than that in other ways as well, though Merlin hardly had words to describe it. But he’d long since relegated himself to a much smaller role in the prince’s public affairs. To the rest of the world, he had no place other than the one Uther had inadvertently carved out for him. A bit of the universe having a laugh at the king’s expense, no doubt.

Still, he knew he wasn’t as important as Gaius was implying. Not _really_. Arthur was a good person, who would sacrifice his life and occasionally his reputation for his servants. He did so for Gwen before. It didn’t mean that anyone in Merlin’s place wouldn’t get the same treatment.

Merlin was about half-sure of this on a good day.

“Well. Be that as it may,” he continued, sounding a little wobbly. “I guess I do want to learn. Maybe I can finally tell him the truth. In its own fashion.”

“Perhaps,” Gaius acquiesced, all too aware of the precariousness of such a hope. “As always, do try to be careful Merlin.”

The warlock huffed to himself. “I do try. I just fail a lot.”

Gaius managed to Eyebrow him. Merlin wasn’t even looking and he _felt_ it. “At least you’ve been failing upward then.”

He couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him. If it sounded a little manic, it was literally everything else’s fault.

“Now come on – you said you needed a disguise?”

“Arthur said so,” Merlin managed, calming down a bit from his bout of hysteria. “I said no one paid attention enough to recognize me in different clothes.”

“He’s right not to risk it. The book should have something on basic spells for changing your appearance.”

As always, the idea of Gaius willingly teaching him something he didn’t have to desperately learn on his own in the middle of an ongoing catastrophe made Merlin perk up significantly. He’d always been too busy with keeping Arthur (and himself, by extension) alive that subterfuge never really had a chance to come into play. “You’ll help me find something?”

“Of course. I don’t want to waste time brewing a solution that might not work. And possibly make your hair fall out.”

“Oh yes let’s definitely avoid that, thank you.”

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[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

“Stop fussing with your hair.”

“I can’t _help it_. I’ve never had it long like this.”

“Nor nearly so blonde. What was Gaius thinking? How did he even manage this?”

Merlin chose not to answer. Point the first, he was feeling decidedly out of his element and absolutely not happy about it. Point the second, he had done this hair bit with magic and Gaius had made something up about rare alchemical reactions, but he didn’t feel like opening himself up to further inspection.

“Arthur wanted a good disguise, didn’t he?” he defended his choices, bravely in the face of Guinevere’s judgment.

“Honestly it does the trick. But if you want this to look right when it’s dry, then you have to stop messing about with it.”

Merlin had lived with short, barely managed, closely cropped hair for most of his life. He usually cut it himself, not really comfortable with having it curl into his vision when it grew too long. Having this much hair was just not on. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes!” Guinevere rummaged around behind him, and he could hear the rustling of fabric. “I can’t believe you’re blonde.”

He could hear the giggle in her voice and scowled at her. “Don’t you dare laugh. I’m not going to enjoy any of this.”

Despite Guinevere having been brought up to speed, and her insistence on abusing their Brocéliande guests for spare ornaments and clothing, she seemed very unperturbed by his situation. In fact, when Arthur had explained his utterly ridiculous plan that Merlin was somehow still going along with, Guinevere had been delighted. Arthur was relieved she seemed to approve, going so far as to give Merlin a very haughty look, like he’d won something (the prat).

All things told, there had been something of a glint in her eye. Merlin remained vaguely apprehensive, and was wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.

“How are you not going to enjoy yourself?” she asked, sounding a little skeptical. “You do realize you’re just going to be dressing up and staying mum the entire time, right?”

“Arthur doesn’t expect me to actually do anything,” Merlin grumbled to himself, though part of him was saying this out of denial.

“Of course he doesn’t, but only because everyone will be coaching you. It’s very generous of him, and Brocéliande, to give you lessons on courtly behavior and responsibilities, you know. Technically,” and here she was putting rich silks in his lap, like he would sort himself out. “He could leave you out to dry, in a sense. If anyone on his court found out he was helping you, they’d scold him for it, and he would have to explain himself.”

“For teaching some peasant how to rule a kingdom?” Merlin pondered aloud, as though the question was rhetorical.

“For keeping a land owner under his service and then not treating you like competition immediately, but yes, that too, likely.”

“I’m literally king of nothing. The Perilous Lands aren’t habitable.”

“For now. Don’t you supposedly have the power to change that?”

She’d asked him that with so much ease, Merlin simply stared. “Yes,” he responded slowly, drawing out the word. “You don’t have any problem with that?”

“Magical kingdoms sound much easier to handle than regular ones. If you can keep the soil fertile and the water clean, and the area free of dangerous beasts and those with ill-intent with naught but a thought, then it is a boon, I would say.”

Tricked into a semi-philosophical discussion, and taken aback by her cavalier attitude, Merlin shook his head. “I could end up like the Fisher King one day – unable to die, but also unable to keep the land safe. Doesn’t that sound pretty horrible?”

“Nonsense,” Guinevere moved to give him another stack of clothing, this time not silk, but still finely stitched. “You’d know to send for aid from us. Camelot is your first ally in this endeavor, we would not leave you in such a state, one way or another.” At Merlin’s blank look, she frowned at him. “Surely you understand that that is what Arthur is doing for you?”

“Doing what?”

Now she looked at him like he was too simple to lace his boots. “All this – having you learn from Brocéliande’s people, him taking you with him to Essetir, giving you the opportunity to experience the possible creation of a treaty first-hand – it’s Arthur trying to help you keep yourself safe for when you,” Guinevere stilled mid-sentence and then looked down and away.

“When I what?” Merlin asked, a tad defensive. “Leave? I’m not leaving.”

“Merlin –”

“I’m not. Whatever I need to do with that land to make it less dire, or whatever, I can do from here, maybe. I don’t have to go anywhere.”

“A throne needs its king,” Guinevere said softly, but she sounded as if she was reciting old verse.

“No,” Merlin chewed the word before he spit it out. “ _People_ need kings. A bit of forest and some old castle can live without someone telling it what to do. There’s no one to lead. Why would I bother to leave my home for that?”

Ealdor was his birthplace, but Camelot was where his heart was. There was no arguing that.

Despite his level of obvious irritation, Guinevere merely smiled at him. A gentle look that carried her own exasperation. “Once it becomes arable again, your land will be highly sought. You will need to protect it somehow.”

“Well. Then I’ll – you know – I’ll find a way to do that. In the meantime, I am not going anywhere. Arthur will literally not last a day without me.”

Whenever he said things like this, he knew people laughed in response. He was a manservant, not a knight or a guard. But those closer always eyed him as if torn between amusement and fondness. Or something akin to respect. Lancelot tended to give him the same expression Guinevere was giving him now: simply something fond, without the incredulity. (Gaius only would if Merlin had recently managed to do something right).

He didn’t want to admit he craved it.

“He might surprise you,” Guinevere said instead, a small but pleasant ruddiness to her cheeks.

Despite Lancelot not-courting-but-probably-maybe-courting Guinevere, and Arthur having been overly involved with not-so-subtly headbutting Lancelot into just using his words, Guinevere herself had said nothing on the topic of her romantic entanglements for a few months at this point. Merlin wiggled to ask her, but didn’t want to be subject to a scolding for it. Gossip they might have done, but not about each other.

He wondered if she truly couldn’t make up her mind.

Merlin couldn’t relate.

“I can’t believe you’re to be royalty,” she continued after a moment, clicking her tongue as if he’d been lying all this time. Obviously exaggerated.

Merlin, who had made effort to not be considered such, especially in the last few years, gave her a particularly annoyed – but mostly desperate – look.

“You can’t say that – it’s not true.”

“It’s a little true,” she said, and then procured silver and gold broaches. “Which one of these?”

“It’s not. Even if it is, it’s not,” Merlin remained mulish. Then stared at the offered decorations, mildly stupefied by having to choose. “Uh.”

“Silver would look better,” she decided in the wake of his bemused indifference. “Trust me.”

Merlin didn’t really deserve her as a friend, but she was his first after Will, and he would never forget that. “I do,” he said, quirking the corners of his lips up.

“Then believe me when I say Arthur is looking after you, and you should respect that.”

Oh. Ow – come on Gwen.

“I mean it. He wants to make sure you’ll be prepared, and he’s worried about you. I can tell.”

He didn’t quite believe that, but he heard her loud and clear. “I’ll let him worry then,” Merlin eventually said, sounding discomfited just to admit it aloud. He wasn’t used to letting anyone else help him with anything. Gwen was a rarity, along with Lancelot (recently). The few times he had, outside of Gaius, he’d been swiftly betrayed, lied to, or otherwise dismissed for asking.

It wasn’t the same. This wasn’t a magic-related issue Arthur was assisting on, but a political one. And yet, Arthur was trying, in his own way. In spite of how awkward it must have been to help elevate a servant to a king, he was still doing it like it was the obvious option.

Merlin was realizing – slowly – that perhaps his bull-headedness was being applied to the wrong people.

“I’ll tell him thanks,” he muttered, appropriately chastened.

“Good. Now put all of that on.”

Merlin blinked at the subject change, but then realized his lap was full of clothing. “Wait.”

“Yes. All of it.”

He didn’t know what some of this was for! Why were there so many layers? Arthur didn’t have this much to wear on a daily basis.

“Because that’s their custom Merlin,” Guinevere explained with great clarity and little patience. “It’s to provide warmth and comfort when they travel, so put them on.” After watching him wrestle with it, she _tsked_. “And be careful! That’s very fine material – you shouldn’t manhandle it.”

Ugh. Whatever.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

Arthur had not seen hair nor hide of Merlin for most of the day – which was what had been planned. But he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious.

He didn’t want to know what Merlin considered a ‘good’ disguise. Not that he didn’t trust Guinevere, but she wasn’t to be in charge of making changes to his hair, the one aspect of this plan that Merlin had denied they’d even needed.

Okay so it hadn’t been the ‘one’ aspect. Merlin had complained thoroughly about all of it. But especially that part.

_“Gaius can find you something. I know he has some manner of tincture that changes the color of hair. Or was it something that lengthens it? I can’t’ remember if one of those is considered illegal.”_

_“Well that’s remarkably bold of you,” Merlin had responded with both eyebrows raised high. “’At least one of your options is illegal, Merlin, don’t worry about it.’ Thanks so much for concerning yourself with the fact that I might get in trouble and then die for it.”_

_“You do that anyway,” Arthur had said, “And I’m prince regent. I can, in fact, pardon you for whatever I see fit.” He shoved a belt at him after speaking. “Keep that.”_

_“Hilarious, sire, as always.”_

So when he opened the door to the chosen meeting room (empty guest room, underutilized for it’s poorly spaced geometry – it was always a little cramped), he blinked and nearly backed away.

“Sire,” Guinevere’s voice halted him, but so did the sight of the not-stranger sitting on the chest in front of the bed.

“This is the right room,” they added, sounding particularly amused, and then Arthur finally let full recognition hit.

“Merlin?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, like an idiot.

[ ](https://imgur.com/uzVsfQI)

“Don’t flip it, or I’ll cut it all off,” Guinevere interjected, just in time to keep Merlin from doing something dramatic with his hair. Instead of that, the other man simply grinned, entirely too smug, in Arthur’s direction.

“Is this disguised enough?”

“You’re blonde,” Arthur felt oddly put off by it, but the longer he stared the more confused he became. “How are you blonde?”

“Gaius,” Guinevere and Merlin answered in unison.

“Longer?” Arthur wasn’t able to use complete sentences. Why was he so taken aback?

“Also Gaius,” Merlin concluded, now far too amused to be acceptable. “What, is it too much? _Like what I was saying before_?”

Unwilling to falter in the face of strangeness – like looking at something that showed exactly what he’d been missing before – Arthur blinked himself back to the present. He tried not to think about what Merlin would look like with his normal hair color, but at that same length and _what was he doing_. “Nonsense. It just proves I was entirely correct. This will be enough to disguise you.”

He absorbed the rest of the scene. The dark colors played well against his pale skin, and silver truly fit well with the whole outfit. Considering Merlin refused to purchase other garments it really was a miracle to see him wearing anything else. Arthur swore he paid Merlin, in addition to handing over shirts he’d fallen out of favor with, but no one could possibly tell.

“This will work,” Arthur said, almost just to himself.

“I hate it, thank you,” Merlin said, cheerful but for the substance of his words.

“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur managed, pulling the reins tighter on whatever face he was making. Or trying to, anyway.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

Of course it would take no time at all for Lancelot to learn about, well, everything.

Guinevere was under orders to explain their deception, but even if she hadn’t been, Lancelot would have been the first person she would have confided in. Gwaine had previously gathered them to talk to Arthur while he described Merlin’s _situation_. There had been a lot of sighing and complaining involved, but honestly no one felt Arthur wasn’t justified. It was a lot to try and plan around. It was far too much to feel the weight of what had changed in such a short time.

“I’m worried,” she ended her explanation, hands rubbing together. “Merlin acts like this hasn’t changed anything, but – of course it has, hasn’t it?”

Arthur did have a history of outwardly maintaining whatever status quo he saw fit by proclaiming so loudly and ignoring reality somewhat. When he’d been young, the flavor of such behavior was oppressive and irritating. Now – well, it could still be irritating, but Guinevere could see the habit as protective as much as it was tinged with denial. Or so she explained further.

Of course Arthur wouldn’t have Merlin dismissed. He would try to help, no matter how ludicrous he thought this was, and try his utmost to let Merlin decide his own fate. The longer he could keep the decision out of his hands, the longer he could hold onto what little family he had left.

Lancelot listened to this, nodding, while internally there was just a little bit of screaming happening in the background of his mind.

He didn’t want to explain his panic – or astonishment – to Guinevere. It would mean revealing more than he could honorably allow.

At the same time, the explosion building up in his chest really – unfortunately – was reserved for one person, and one person only. And Merlin wasn’t here to experience it.

Guinevere sighed. “They’re dancing around the problem. I can feel it. And now Arthur wants to play pretend – now, of all times!” She turned her gaze to meet Lancelot’s directly. “You have been to Essetir, yes? Would they be in danger?”

Would Merlin be in danger? It was what she was asking, in the end. Lancelot rubbed his neck in response.

“When I traveled through Essetir with Percival, it was a failing kingdom. Most of it’s people had fled to other towns or even further, to escape Cenred’s schemes and neglect.” He crossed his arms. “If it has been restored to its former glory, then I can’t imagine it being worse. He’s – they’re as safe there as they are in Camelot.”

Lancelot was reminded he so desperately hated lying to Gwen. He tried to tell her the truth as much as possible, even if it was missing context. It still felt horrible.

Many other kingdoms held more unsavory practices with regards to those with magic. Essetir had been one of them. After all, being put to the pyre wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a witch or wizard. It was just one of the most common.

Guinevere smiled at him, looking more relieved than she should have felt as far as Lancelot was concerned. “Did you get him to agree then?”

“Barely,” he admitted. It was much like pulling teeth, convincing Merlin that perhaps he could be trained in some manner of self-defense. Lancelot had gotten closer than any knight before him. Gwaine’s attempts had failed utterly (Merlin had a way of distracting the man so easily it was bewildering). Leon had been too awkward despite his earnestness, but his attempt shaved off some of the massive chip in Merlin’s shoulder about the whole business. But it had not convinced the servant.

Arthur had been the first of course, but his ways were – hm – lacking. Encouraging? Certainly. Bullheaded? Absolutely. As if it weren’t enough that Merlin was equally as stubborn.

Percival hadn’t tried, mostly because he wasn’t verbally the swiftest of men, and Merlin tended to run circles around even the wittiest among them. Elyan had refused Gwen’s insistence that he be the one to give it a go, stating plainly that he wasn’t going to be teaching Merlin anything. Mostly because he preferred to get into trouble with him instead, but Lancelot knew nothing about those shenanigans. Hand to god.

So Lancelot had made his attempt. And to everyone’s surprise, it had been moderately successful. Now all he had to do was tie Merlin to a tree to get him to stay in one spot for longer than five minutes at a time, and maybe the servant-who-wasn’t-magical-at-all-no-sir would learn a thing or two.

At least training with a staff (spear, but without the pointy end – Lancelot wasn’t going to risk an open wound on accident) had gone well. But Lancelot was well aware he was being used as a procrastination tool, and decided to give Merlin a little hell for it.

[ ](https://imgur.com/U9Y9zYG)

Not too much. He was a good man.

Well, a decent one.

…He did alright.

“A staff? I can hardly imagine Merlin with a weapon.” Guinevere did not say this unkindly, but she was smiling. “You didn’t see him when I gave him a sword to hold the first time. He looked like a lamb, honestly. I was surprised he knew what end to hold – he reached out for the blade with his bare hand!”

“That seems about right,” Lancelot sighed. “Do you need any help with preparing for the trip?”

“No, we’ve got most everything sorted.”

In lieu of Morgana fleeing into the night, leaving a trail of destruction and pain behind her, Gwen had been adrift. It had been the cherry on top of a horrible year. Not to mention what happened to her father long before Lancelot knew her. Merlin had once told him that Guinevere had less reason to stay in Camelot than even he.

Arthur, awkward but well-meaning, had tried to provide her with distraction – but importantly, distraction that had purpose. He himself was not the best at providing comfort, even to a woman he cared for so obviously, but to almost everyone’s surprise Guinevere took to the extra responsibilities like a duck to water.

Well, her competence didn’t surprise Arthur. Or Lancelot. Or Merlin…or any of the other knights, really. But it was still good to see her come into her own regardless. She’d had so much hardship in the last few years; agency flourished her like little else could.

And she had forgiven him. And Arthur. She had so much room in her for forgiveness.

Lancelot didn’t know how she managed.

Now she nearly ran the castle, opposite the Steward, taking care of any and all matters and arrangements for Arthur and his knights specifically. There wasn’t really a formal title. For now at least.

Merlin often wondered (loudly) that Arthur should probably think of something before she got persuaded by another kingdom to handle their affairs instead. If Gwen was in the room at the same time, she would very often smack him on the shoulder. It didn’t seem to stop him saying it though, mostly because if Arthur was present he would squirm rather obviously.

“Just,” Guinevere started, then stopped and bit her lip. “Please look out for both of them. They can be very obtuse sometimes, no matter how smart they are individually.”

Lancelot really, honestly, tried not to laugh. He did.

“Shush! You know what I mean,” Guinevere flushed and pushed at his shoulder, playful but urgent.

“I understand.” Lancelot had been around for when Gaius uttered the best phrase he’d ever heard, in regards to Merlin and Arthur working in tandem. “Two halves of the same idiot.”

“ _Lancelot_.”

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

“Do any of you know any songs?”

The question popped free of Gwaine some few hours after leaving Camelot proper. Merlin had to shake himself out of his stupor to realize the knight had spoken.

He could be forgiven his distraction.

Before they’d left, bright and early, Priestess Gitta had managed to corner Merlin and Arthur in the same space and sat them down. It was a feat in and of itself, but neither of the men in the room dared hint at that fact.

To credit her adaptable nature, she hadn’t even blinked at Merlin’s attempts to blend into their custom. Though her eyes had flicked to his hair for half a moment. If she was amused, she didn’t show it.

“I will be discreet as I can, assisting with his training,” she gestured at Merlin. “But I would like to hear from you, personally, that this won’t put him in any danger if he should remain in Camelot after we depart.”

Merlin stared incredibly hard at the ceiling after she’d cited her demand, trying to pretend this same concern hadn’t entirely consumed his waking thoughts for the last several days.

“He will be in disguise,” Arthur trailed off when he noted how the priestess’ gaze hardened. “Gods, of course it won’t. As long as I live, Merlin has my protection. No matter what.”

It took tremendous willpower for Merlin not to grimace.

“This wasn’t his choice, and besides – it’s Merlin. He’s as threatening as a spring lamb.”

And there was that delightful tug back down to earth. “Thank you, I thrive on your compliments,” he said, still staring at the ceiling.

“It _is_ a compliment,” Arthur said somewhat snootily to his left.

“Children,” Gitta snapped, though she was hardly much older than they. “Focus. Please, your highness. I did not come here to put an innocent in danger. You have proven your capability for reason, but your laws are thus unchanged. Do not mock my concern, when I have every cause to have it.”

Merlin could hear Arthur shift. It wasn’t like him to shuffle around like that, and made the warlock tilt his gaze downward to catch the look on the prince’s face. He tried not to look startled at the minute sheepishness than lingered even as Arthur’s back straightened.

“M’lady,” he started and then sighed. “I hope you understand that I am not my father. I give you my word, he will always be under my protection. Regardless of any law in my kingdom, my creed comes first. I take precedence the safety of all my people, even before my own.”

“Good,” Gitta said, without a hint of mercy. “Because your conviction will be tested, again and again.” She shifted her eyes to Merlin briefly. “If you do not keep your word you will lose what you love. You know this.”

Arthur eyed her, gaze as cold as iron. “I do.”

“Then I will hold you to your convictions.” She straightened and bowed. “You are a good man, Prince Arthur.”

Flattery used to butter Arthur up with ease. One look at Uther would make that fact perfectly relatable. But this time his face didn’t seem to relax. In fact, he looked downright uncomfortable.

“I hope so,” was all he said.

Merlin had not known how to respond to that, which was likely a good thing, as he might have ruined the moment. He spent most of the remaining day in the castle proper, getting accustomed to the new garments and learning more about Brocéliande. Yet the entire time, it felt like he was in a daze.

When had he given up on Arthur that this response had come as a surprise? Why was it so shocking that Camelot’s prince – a good man, trying to be better – would come to his defense? He had yet to do a single magical thing in full view of him, but did that matter when Gitta appealed to Arthur’s honor and it had … worked?

It took a lot to really shake Merlin these days, what with multiple murder attempts and terrifying magic at Camelot’s door every other week. But this made him dare to hope for more than what he’d previously assumed was possible, and he didn’t exactly know what to do with the feeling.

That, and upon learning that Sir Leon, Elyan and Percival would remain behind to safeguard Arthur’s interests (and Camelot’s best), Merlin felt strangely uneasy.

He was additionally morose because – for very valid reasons – they weren’t going to pass through Ealdor on their way to Essetir’s castle. It wasn’t worth the risk, and logically of course they wouldn’t, not with Merlin all dolled up like another human being.

Arthur had not been altogether eager to deliver this news to him, which warmed Merlin a bit more to the idea he would once again miss his mother on his way to possible doom.

There were only so many chances to wiggle free of responsibility to visit her. Merlin had a feeling Arthur would forgive him more absences to do so, but he genuinely didn’t want to take advantage of Arthur’s obvious soft spots. The man yearned for a decent parent-child relationship – and who could blame him? Uther wasn’t exactly known for his loving nature.

Besides, every time he took a bit of time to himself, Arthur’s life got put in danger _somehow_ and frankly that was just not on for Merlin. He was tired, certainly, but not tired enough to risk it.

“I’m sorry?” Priestess Gitta was the one being addressed, and had turned her head in surprise. “Do we know of any songs?”

“Well anyone here, dear lady, but I wouldn’t object if you obliged us. I’m sure your tones are quite dulcet,” Gwaine moved so easily through his flattery. Merlin really had no idea where that confidence came from, but he wanted to tap that well once in a while.

Priestess Gitta certainly had an expression, but it made Gwaine just grin harder in return.

Arthur didn’t even deign to respond to the inquest. Merlin shared one glance with Lancelot, who was busy looking skyward to avoid answering.

Really? These people were impossible.

“I know a few.”

Merlin nearly looked down at his own mouth in surprise.

“You? Can sing?” Arthur finally decided to join the conversation.

“I didn’t say that,” Merlin hurried to correct. “Just that I know a few songs. I had to keep away the carnivores somehow when I traveled to Camelot.”

Gwaine grinned at this. “I’ve never heard you sing! Are you any good?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered, blindingly honest. “But I can try if you’re bored. Don’t you know some?”

“I do,” Gwaine tilted his head in recognition. “But I’d rather be in a chorus than go solo.” The man had the audacity to wink. Honestly.

Merlin pretended to ponder long and hard about their options. In truth he really only had four and a half songs (one ballad he’d learned to piss off Will eons ago, three folk ditties he couldn’t erase from his head if he tried, and half of a lullaby his mother used to sing him to sleep).

“Philosophers, poets and kings?” he offered, not quite sure of the name.

There was a bark of laughter. “ _Diogenes, surly and proud, he started at the tearaway youth,_ ” Gwaine began.

“ _He delighted in wine, wine that was good,_ ” followed Merlin with a sheepish grin.

“ _Oh because in good wine there was truth!_ ” they bellowed together amid Lancelot’s laughter and Arthur’s grumpy mutterings of _‘of course that’s the one Gwaine knows best_.’

They cycled through several verses of this one before Gwaine took over on his own, much to everyone’s amusement.

It was, Merlin would later consider, the last moment of peace they had gotten before they reached Essetir.


	3. Gleterande as golde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the consequences of playing stupid games are confirmed, and Merlin wins a stupid prize - and realizes something he should have done at least a year ago.

Merlin hadn’t exactly been many places in his life, in regards to towns or villages. He’d really only managed the two, Camelot included, and skirted border towns whenever traveling. So when he set eyes upon Essetir proper the first time, he bit his cheek. Arthur’s shoulders were tense enough as they were; this wasn’t the right moment to prod. Especially since – well. He was technically a friendly stranger right now. Not to his companions, but to potential witnesses as they tottered by on horseback.

It was … nice. It was nicer than Camelot’s lower town, in fact. Perhaps it had been around a bit longer, or been less besieged. Either way, most of the proper merchants had stone houses and storefronts, and that was impressive considering they hadn’t yet gotten to the castle proper.

They followed a somewhat winding path. Merlin realized the further in they traveled, the more something familiar began to prickle his skin. The sensation was muted, by comparison, to the deep woods, or those sacred places long since abandoned, but it was there, skittering across the surface of his mind. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw something. Something he’d never get a chance to witness in Camelot.

A man – briefly yelled at by his employer – raised his hand and cast a spell, securing a hanging wooden sign that had been previously askew. Something glittered in the meager sunlight along his wrist, but at this distance Merlin couldn’t spot details.

To the entire party’s credit, they merely came to a pause. There were no hands grabbing at scabbards, nor shouts of alarm. Arthur’s face did a funny pinching expression before it smoothed out.

Merlin couldn’t help but feel something curl and uncurl in his gut.

He was haunted by Arthur’s promises of safety. Knowing they weren’t informed by the truth left him hollow.

Arthur was, somehow – miraculously – _fine_ with his current, nebulously magical circumstances. The invisible crown he’d not chosen, nor accepted, was hanging off his soul like an increasingly dead weight. The implications of what he would be if he did accept had not really been dealt with. Merlin was happy to dance around it until the cows came home, specifically because in his mind there was no choice to be made. He would stay in Camelot. He would not be a strange land’s king. It was not his path to take.

Being equal parts astonished, angry, and relieved was a confusing experience. Could he still tell Arthur the truth and survive the experience? Or had this additional pseudo-lie made it all the more complicated?

As well, to say that the high priestess was unhappy about this was, perhaps, an understatement.

(“You could cause damage to yourself if you don’t complete the bond,” she said to him under an old oak tree, in the privacy of the forest they were stopping past. For once Merlin was happy to watch while the others set up camp. Gitta had taken the time to urge him to explore the full nature of this bond, and maybe to set a campfire or two. All out of range of Camelot’s entourage.

“And if I can’t take it back?” he asked her, for what felt like the hundredth time. “I cannot remove myself from Camelot.” _I can’t leave Arthur_ , he didn’t say. _His father is fading, and his regency is plagued by uncertainty and threats_ , he didn’t add. _I am no king. But Arthur is_.

“You may find yourself without a choice.”)

Merlin didn’t want to say ‘he would deal with that later’ but, well, he had to, didn’t he?

Look. He was trying to be polite about it.

“Well, that’s something,” Gwaine uttered as the horses slowly move forward again. He sounded perturbed, which wasn’t like him.

“What?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask.

“Princess barely twitched.”

They each took a moment to look askance at Arthur, whose gaze seemed docile even as it lingered on the sign now hanging properly from the eave. It wasn’t as though he had never seen magic at work before, Merlin considered. But perhaps nothing so mundane as it being used to fix a sign.

“Just goes to show, he’s played host more often than going out into the world,” Gwaine continued, offering up his thoughtful nature more readily than Merlin was used to. Despite them being fast friends, Gwaine still preferred to jape than settle into gravitas. “I’m sure his father preferred having his allies _and_ his enemies go to him. Helped keep the illusion alive.”

“What illusion?” Arthur was not within hearing distance. Merlin felt safe exploring the subject.

“That the world is just like Camelot, from tradition to splendor,” Gwaine shrugged this last sentence off like it wasn’t a profoundly accurate description of Uther’s psychology. “I think princess has a better view of it now than he did when I met him, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin didn’t so much lie as avoid answering. “No matter what else, he’s not his father.”

“And that’s why we’re here,” his friend added, though it didn’t sound like he was speaking for himself. “Come on. Let’s not be idle.”

Merlin’s thoughtful expression turned amused. “You’re usually idle enough for both of us.”

“How dare you, I’m a perfect example of prudence.”

He couldn’t help the snort of laughter, which summoned a glare from Arthur even at the distance they’d delayed from each other. Merlin likely sprained something trying to keep his lips in a straight line, and instead glanced upwards in total innocence.

Gitta was riding behind him, and he could feel her gaze on his back.

“You act awfully friendly to Camelot for a visitor,” she said, not bitter as much as exceedingly calm. Her tone was quiet as Gwaine rode ahead to charm Lancelot with one of his stories. It was a recent habit of his that Lancelot seemed to find deeply amusing – which was better than being affronted.

“We’ve been visiting for several days now,” Merlin responded through somewhat clenched teeth. “Surely one can make a friendly acquaintance in that time.”

“A known magic-user and a knight of Camelot make for an odd friendship,” and while she spoke, she sounded distracted, her eyes moving over the storefronts and houses of the lower town. “None of our party hold such ease around them, and neither should you. You do not wish to stand apart from us _as well_ as your friends.”

At least she dropped the verbal pretense. “I can stand however I need to,” Merlin couldn’t help but snipe back. “This was Arthur’s _brilliant_ plan, not mine. I would have been happy remaining his servant.”

The priestess seemed to stare at him with some resignation. It settled around her shoulders like a heavy winter cloak. “You mean that. Of course you mean it.” She seemed to speak to herself. “No matter. That isn’t my point. The charade is already in motion. It would do you better to not draw the wrong kind of attention to yourself.”

It took him a moment to realize she sounded nervous. He had never heard this particular timbre out of Gitta before now, not that he’d spent much time in her presence. Still, it was startling.

“Essetir appears welcoming toward magic, isn’t that a good thing?” he asked, not bothering to try and sound confident when he didn’t know the answer.

“I’m not sure I trust that to be entirely true. Certainly, it seems to be useful to them, to have wielders of magic nearby. But useful is not the same as accepted.”

“How can this be worse than Camelot?”

“Some things are worse than death,” Gitta addressed him, tone blunt and heavy with knowledge. “Trust me.”

Ray of sunshine, she was. Still, she had a point, even if Merlin was loathe to consider it.

Unconsciously, he kept his distance for the rest of the ride to the castle.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

Arthur had mentioned – just the once over the course of their journey here – that King Lot had seized the throne in a likely not-very-legitimate fashion. Merlin’s standards weren’t exactly high for royalty, and having Cenred be the other option certainly only aided Lot, but he was expecting a lot of posturing and snide commentary. Maybe even some overt boasting. Typical of royalty that hadn’t worked for anything in their life.

As it turned out, all expectations were subverted.

King Lot was a man of surprising stature. He projected an aspect that spoke of sure-footedness in the face of chaos, which surprised Merlin. Inwardly, of course.

(Despite what _some_ people claimed, he did know how to keep a straight face in the midst of internal turmoil – it was just that he couldn’t make it work around Arthur when it was just the two of them.)

“Welcome Prince Regent of Camelot,” and his voice was surprisingly gentle as well. “And you bring guests from afar.” If he was mystified by the small entourage of people in rich purple colors, Merlin among them, he didn’t show it.

“I apologize for not giving proper notice. They arrived nearly the same day your message did, and I could not think to leave them after they’d traveled so far.” Arthur didn’t sound too sorry, but there was enough of a gentle wince along his lips that proved he wasn’t being flippant. “Thank you for inviting us into your home.”

Priestess Gitta bowed just low enough to show deference. “My name is High Priestess Gitta. We are from Brocéliande, your majesty. We are in your debt for hosting us without warning, and will offer our aid if you are in need of helping hands. We hope not to be a burden.”

She gestured to the rest of her group, of which Merlin was included. At this, the others bowed, and Merlin hurried to follow suit. “My associates and fellow ambassadors are also at your service.”

“Nonsense,” King Lot said generously. “Consider yourselves welcome. I would not conscript guests!” He laughed, a booming sound that seemed wholly jovial.

“Oh – that reminds me, Prince Arthur,” he waved a hand. “Your uncle arrived the day before and we spent some time catching up.” Well that explained how unfazed he was by the unexpected crowd. Still, Lot frowned. “I am sorry to hear about your father.” The king lowered his gaze. “But I know you will make him proud, even if it is just for the interim.”

Arthur shook his head, once. “Thank you for your kind words.” A weighted pause settled before he spoke again. “I aim to.”

“Ah, but I would not summon you here and have you dwell on dark tidings. Please, allow my servants to guide you to your rooms. We will celebrate properly tonight.”

Merlin, who mentally had not prepped for the moment he would have to stop acting like a friend and become a stranger, nearly jerked toward Arthur automatically. Gitta – to her great restraint – did not grab him by the collar. She did give him a Look, which he did not appreciate.

He wasn’t an idiot! He’d just forgotten himself for a moment. It was entirely understandable. For a brief moment he dared to catch Arthur’s eye from across the room, and was startled to see a smirk on the prince’s face before both groups were swept away.

Avoiding the grumpy confusion building up in his chest, he trained his gaze away from the people he knew, and followed the others to their designated quarters. There was something about this place, about seeing magic done out in the open, that made him restless. He could feel energy stir under his skin, impatient for something – he wasn’t sure.

It took him a moment to remember that he was supposed take advantage of being able to use magic openly. Perhaps still not in front of Arthur, because he was a huge coward, but with guidance from his new friend the high priestess.

“If you like, we can go over anything you’ve never had cause to try.”

She may not have liked his decisions, but Gitta seemed excited to teach. It was strange to have her protection and promise of learning when he hardly knew the woman, but this appeared to be the way of her.

One of the men in their bundle chuckled. “Priestess, you can give him a minute to settle. We aren’t sure what might be allowed here, you said so yourself.”

“Of course,” Gitta said, blinking rapidly. She looked appropriately chastened, another rare expression in Merlin’s dealings with her thus far.

“I don’t exactly have a teacher – I mean, a little bit. When he has time. But he said he can’t really teach me much more than what I already know.” The warlock rose up to defend her enthusiasm because, well, he didn’t have a lot of people to enthuse at him for his ‘gifts’ in the first place. Whatever their disagreements, she cared about his safety and that knew that knowledge was power – and more importantly, she was willing to share it.

She smiled, a small thing that quirked the corners of her lips. “If you’d like to find out on your own that’s alright as well. You’re not tethered to us. I don’t want you to think I’m your minder.” Clearing her throat, Gitta flushed slightly. “I know I can be a bit…forward. Overbearing.”

Her company chuckled, but none seemed to contradict her. Outside of court, and away from the Camelot’s company, the small band of ambassadors seemed to relax.

“You’re very low on the list of overbearing people I know,” Merlin quipped. “If I had to chart it. Which I won’t.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Maybe, he was avoiding further invasive conversation about his life choices, and wasn’t bothering to hide it. Maybe he was just running from the nerve-wracking prospect of showing his magic to a larger audience (something he always endured, and did not wish to explore the reasons for why). Either way, Merlin went in search of snacks.

Usually this wasn’t too hard. While his experience with other courts was very limited, it was usually easy to nose around a castle’s hierarchy and learn its systems. One couldn’t spend a lot of time in Camelot’s many halls without learning how to navigate them. Literally and politically speaking.

Seriously, if Gwen hadn’t taken pity on him, he’d never have known the in’s and out’s crucial to his survival. He might have even lost his job, regardless of Arthur’s opinions on the matter. _Apparently_ being appointed as he had been was much like getting any other royal position. Except it was the absolute _bottom_ of the list. Still, it was coveted, and he’d apparently displaced a long line of dedicated servants who knew what they were doing, cluelessly starting an inter-servile war which only ended when a store room nearly caught on fire.

There was a lot he didn’t bother telling Arthur, simply because it might cause him to do something Judicious and frankly – as he learned over time – certain problems weren’t worth the royal effort. Merlin might not have been a fan of much of the ruling class, but he’d learned that some citizen-level problems were wholly self-generating, and that wouldn’t likely change any time soon.

These were the thoughts running through his head when he realized he was nearly wandering the halls on his own.

That was odd.

Either the servants here were _really_ quiet, or he was actively being given a wide berth.

Merlin was used to chatter and gossip. He actively hunted for this common occurrence, because he knew where and when to listen for it. It didn’t cross his mind that he wouldn’t find any at all.

He tried to write it off. It wasn’t as if this was exactly like Camelot – maybe they just had different nooks and crannies for such idles. Though it certainly made him miss Guinevere somewhat terribly. He was friendly enough, and got on with anyone he wanted to, but Gwen had a way of bringing down walls. People melted around her. Merlin would have called it magic if he didn’t know it was just his friend’s way.

He trawled the long hallways, both avoiding his underlying predicament and curious about Essetir’s general culture. This was normally guaranteed to get him into some manner of soft (or not so soft) scandal.

Ah. Wait. This time he was considered a guest. Maybe not royalty, but certainly not a servant.

Merlin was not prepared for how that thwarted his usual ‘sneak into the kitchens and make jokes until someone let something slip’ plans.

Deciding that perhaps he could wing it and see what happened, Merlin headed towards the kitchens (once he had acquired directions from a rather tremulous maid) regardless.

Arthur would have noted that Merlin’s legendary lack of self-preservation was once again rearing its ugly head. Merlin would have called him a podge.

It was a real word. Just like clotpole. He would insist.

Passing through a place without having to ask people to move (or just doing funny little leaps and wiggles when they ignored him) still felt odd. Was this a tenth of what Arthur felt like on the regular? No wonder his head was the size it was.

When he finally stumbled onto his first bit of eavesdropping, he nearly injured himself, hopping to hide away.

“It’s alright Alma, I know you’re just doing your best.”

“No – I angered the Steward, I’m sure of it,” a young, ruddy-haired girl was rubbing her hands together, obviously nervous. The older woman comforting her was somewhat bedraggled in appearance but her gestures were genuine. “He’ll require that I wear them again, I don’t want to – I can’t do it again.”

The older woman _tsked_. “He won’t put you through that just for forgetting a candle or two. Unless any of our guests complain, he would never even notice, I’m sure of it. The man pays less attention to detail than he thinks he does.”

“He put Calum in them for a full half-day!” Alma insisted, eyes wide. There was a glint of something along her wrist – a silver cuff. Delicate and extremely rich for a serving girl’s blood. Yet she was wearing it in full view of her masters, which meant it was unquestionably hers.

“Calum mouthed off to him in full view of the King!” the woman addressed the wildly disparate causes with a wave of her hand, which was holding a semi-damp cloth. “You have done nothing to merit punishment, girl – now stop fretting. We have a schedule to keep.”

Merlin kept himself clear out of sight as he watched them vacate the alcove they’d been hiding in, and felt absolutely no closer to any kind of real knowledge.

He’d only ever been thrown into cells, or stocks, by either the prince or the king. Stewards didn’t always have the authority to put someone in the stocks, but they could inform their lord of mistakes or indiscretions and have them decide fitting punishment. The steward of Camelot had not ever held sway over him in such a way, and wasn’t going to start anytime soon if the man knew what was good for him.

Poking his head into the nearest entryway helped him catch the two women still whispering at each other as they rummaged through some stacked supplies. They seemed oblivious to his presence.

“Hullo there.”

Alma, the younger girl, nearly jumped out of her skin, even letting out a small ‘eep’ of surprise, much to Merlin’s ill-hidden amusement. Her elder, however merely gave him a polite, if terse, once-over.

“M’lord,” she curtsied (barely – Merlin approved of this). “How may we assist you?”

“I apologize for interrupting – it’s just, I hadn’t asked about where the kitchens were. Do you happen to know the way?”

“Oh, we can get you what you need, m’lord,” the younger finally chirped, eyes wide. Had Merlin ever been that young? Scratch that, had he ever had a single subservient bone in his body? “What do you wish to have?”

“A feast of roast boar and pheasant will be served this evening. Perhaps some lighter fare for lunch?” the older woman offered, professionalism still running high.

To be clear, Merlin had not been expecting this either. He was hungry – he was fairly certain he was always hungry, actually – but it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be offered anything. Truthfully, he’d just been planning to skive a sweet bun and call it a day, possibly overhearing whatever he needed to in the process.

“Oh – um.” Very lordly of him. “No – well, yes. But I don’t want to distract you from your duties,” he waved a hand, his own eyes a little wide. “Or make more work for you. If you have a leftover bun or something, I’ll be fine with that.” He rushed through the sentence, growing steadily more embarrassed.

No wonder Arthur had been such an arrogant ass when they’d first met, if this is how he was treated since he was born.

Alma’s expression grew confused while her older counterpart’s lips twitched. “I see. I will find something suitable for you, m’lord. Please don’t trouble yourself further. What is your name, so I may ask after you?” the woman seemed a little warmer than before, so Merlin wasn’t going to push it.

Then he realized he’d nearly forgotten the name he was to use.

(This had been a matter of some debate since before they’d left Camelot.

“You are not calling yourself that,” Arthur had declared with far too much certainty.

“Why not? Gitta said it was okay,” Merlin said, in a tone that conveyed he had never done anything wrong in his life. Per the look on Arthur’s face, he wasn’t convinced.

“It’s ridiculous! Are you sure it’s even Gaulish?”

“I asked her for help! I didn’t come up with it on my own; I don’t even know Gaulish. I can’t make up something, so I asked if they knew any names – and then they mentioned some of the shared history between Gaul and your family and –”

“You can’t – it’s my great uncle’s name, it’s so very bizarre, Merlin.”

“No one will know! It’s been an age anyway, no one will remember.”

“ _He was a war hero_.”)

“Ambrosius,” Merlin cut off his internal reminiscing. “No need for ‘lord’ – that’s not really how we call ourselves.”

And that was true at least. Arleno, one of the two men accompanying Gitta, had mentioned as an aside that there wasn’t really need for many titles outside of High Priestess. They may have been her accompaniment but they were not priests or priestesses themselves. The people of Broceliande were a small group, and hierarchy was not their priority.

“If you don’t mind us, it gives us something to address you by, sire,” the older lady insisted, though she was polite about it. “Unless you have an alternative.”

“No miss,” he said, somewhat sheepish. “Just – wanted to let you know we won’t lose our minds if you don’t.”

Merlin made great attempts at ignoring Alma’s blatantly wide-eyed staring. Maybe it was the hair.

“Understood, sire,” the older woman bobbed her head. “If that will be all….”

“What’s your name?”

At this, she gave pause. For the first time, there seemed to be the hint of surprise around the corners of her eyes. “Edith, m’lord.”

“Thank you, Edith,” Merlin said, because manners. “Please don’t rush on my account. I’m not going anywhere,” he dared to joke.

Bustling off after that seemed appropriate, considering he wasn’t going to be able to blend in like he used to. There wasn’t a way to talk to any of the staff without them seeing his clothing and knowing what he was.

Perhaps, he thought a little sadly, that might have been the point of this whole charade.

Being royalty was kind of lonely.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

When Merlin traveled the castle, for lack of a schedule or chores or literally any duties, he began to notice a pattern.

While he might not have had his previous power of metaphorical invisibility, Merlin still had a pair of ears that worked. Thankfully, his ability to go most places without being questioned (he knew that any of the personal rooms were not within limits to guests – the obvious private domains of Essetir’s royalty), did aid in eavesdropping well enough.

Every other servant was wearing that same silver bracelet. Seeing one such artifact twice was already straining the bounds of coincidence. But Merlin could count beyond both hands the number he saw glittering in the hallways. There was no real connection between each person. It wasn’t just women or only men, or only the younger staff – any age and gender seemed likely to be spotted carting around such a treasure.

It wasn’t until he spotted one of them tapping a broom and letting it dance around the hall on its own that he realized.

There was no way to confirm the truth without asking. He could make assumptions all day, based solely on that sinking gut feeling. But he wouldn’t know. Of course, outright demanding to know would go about as well as any sane person might expect.

Still, he didn’t want to risk causing a diplomatic incident. After all, it wouldn’t be Camelot he’d put under scrutiny.

Unfortunately, wandering had not done well for his sense of direction. If he waited too long, Edith wouldn’t be able to find him.

At the very instant he had this thought, Merlin’s skin prickled. A thrum of power vibrated through his bones, and let out a a sudden burst of magic – which startled him until he realized he was the source.

Wide-eyed, he stared as it lingered around him like the static after lightning. Then, in a heartbeat, a golden trail of light fettered from the center of his chest and spun out, drifting around the nearest corner and out of sight.

Merlin stood, frozen, mouth ajar.

He had not. He had not done that on purpose. Oh no. Oh no no no.

When the shock wore off, the golden thread began to dissipate, and Merlin hoofed it, not caring how he looked, chasing the spell as it faded from his view, completely unsure if that had been visible to anyone but himself. He panted as he turned a final corner, only to find himself heading towards what looked to be another guest room.  
  
As there hadn’t been any shouts of surprise echoing through the castle, so he presumed he was in the clear. No one could have missed the light speeding around like that.

Hands shaking, he reached for the door, only to pause when he heard a muted exchange.

“You’re certain?” Arthur’s voice; he would recognize it anywhere.

“It’s unusual.” Followed by Gitta. “I know you have no reason to trust me, in this instance.” She didn’t sound very certain. “But I thought you ought to know.”

“Every one of them?”

There was a shuffling of fabric. “Yes, sire. They are all bound, minutely. If they act against their master in any way, it will cause them a great amount of pain. Otherwise they are free to use their magic as they see fit.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but….”

“How am I familiar?” Gitta’s voice was so soft, Merlin could barely distinguish it through the wood. “I don’t wish to tell you, if you’ll accept that.”

Arthur’s pause was considerate. “I do.”

Merlin leaned closer to the door, curiosity getting the better of him, when he was interrupted. “Lord Ambrosius?”

Edith’s voice made him jump and skitter sideways. “Oh! Sorry – yes. Hello.”

With one eyebrow raised, her smile was unabashedly dry. “Your food, m’lord.” She held up the platter she was carrying for better viewing. On it lay five hot cross buns. Merlin literally forgot everything else in the world for a moment when the smell of those spices hit his nose.

“Edith, you’re a goddess,” the words spilled unbidden from his lips, and he only hesitated a second before nabbing one right off the top of the pile.

“You’re too kind, m’lord.”

“I was the one who said I wasn’t going anywhere, and then I got lost,” he admitted. “Sorry if you spent a lot of time looking for me.”

“Nonsense,” she waved a hand. “I had only just started, m’lord.”

(Well, now he wished he knew the spell to replicate whatever he just did. Had it led him by anticipating Edith? Or had he simply wanted to talk to the high priestess, and then it led him here? It could be incredibly useful, when used on purpose.)

Maybe he should have been more unnerved, but food made him feel a little more level-headed, and perhaps there was just a small heaping dose of denial to keep him from pondering that accidental lapse of control. Surely that was the smartest plan.

Merlin had almost opened his mouth to heap more compliments, but then the door opened to reveal two identical faces of disbelief. And here he was with his cheeks full of bread. “Ah. Hullo. Your highness.”

“M-Ambrosius,” Arthur looked like he wanted to roll his eyes quite a lot. “I was just in counsel with your high priestess; did you need something?” There was a pointed look that followed.

“No. Yes! Yes – there is. Pardon me sire, but I do have news to share. Edith, do you mind if I steal this from you?”

“I did bring them for a reason,” Edith said, then curtsied after Merlin plucked the tray from her outstretched hands. “Please enjoy, your highness. Miss. Ambrosius,” she added, a little cheekily, before leaving them in the hall.

Before either of the two had a chance to speak, Merlin nudged them inside the room and closed the door. The platter of buns wavered dangerously before he set them down on a nearby chair. “Sorry about that – I’d asked for something to eat and she took the trouble to get these to me but I had gotten lost so –“

“Merlin for the love of god,” Arthur interrupted. “Breathe. Then explain yourself.”

Eavesdropping gave him cause to edit his words, but as he explained the presence of the silver bracelets and the start of his theory, he let Gitta hold up a hand to stop him.

“I was just explaining myself to your prince,” she said, not sounding at all convinced that Merlin hadn’t already known this. “They are an object made to control those who use magic. It is but one half of a pair. Wear both, and they will not have access to their powers. Wear one, and it allows you free reign. Unless you choose to harm the one who placed it upon you.”

Arthur’s face shifted, the furrow on his brow deepening. “Would anyone – would any wielder of magic willingly subject themselves to such a thing?”

Gitta looked to the floor, trying to hide her discomfort. “It might be a prerequisite of employment in the castle, to prevent mischief or worse. But I shouldn’t dare to think so.” She considered it further. “Perhaps Essetir has its own customs.” Her voice was not at all convinced of her own counter argument.

Merlin tried not to imagine having no access to that innermost part of him. When magic was like breathing, would it simply steal the air from his lungs?

At the very least, he didn’t think he’d enjoy it very much.

“I may not approve, but it does _appear_ to be a conditional situation,” Arthur said, words sluggish from obvious distaste. “If either of you learn more, I insist you tell me. I would not prefer to make allies that would force this upon their own people. With the threat of magic or not, there has to be a better way.”

Sometimes, Merlin really could kiss him.

…Wait.

“Certainly, your highness,” Gitta affirmed, her approval obvious even with her attempts to remain aloof for the sake of diplomacy. “Merlin – might I have a word? Or would you prefer to eat first?”

Someone was speaking to him. Right. “Yes. Eat? Yes – I’ll eat. First. Sure.” His ears were ringing. “Does that mean I get to chase you out for once?” he said with a remarkably steady voice, giving Arthur what he hoped was a smirk. There was absolutely no way to control the muscles on his face with any certainty at the moment.

For a moment, Arthur said nothing, his eyes darting between the both of them with some benign suspicion. Then he breathed out through his nose in a huff.

“Don’t get used to it,” Arthur snipped, only a little haughty, but it was mostly affectation at this point. He even sounded a little smug. “M’lady,” he added, overtly courteous as he left the room and shut the door once more behind him with a decisive thud.

Merlin sat down, nearly on the buns he’d placed there himself, before rearranging them to a better suited table and stuffing a whole one into his mouth. Then he chewed.

“…Are you alright?”

 _Not in the slightest_. “Yes. I’m fine. Just fine. Thank you.”

Gitta did not appear to believe him, but said nothing to contradict. Instead, she daintily took a bun for herself and sat down opposite him. “You look a little … scattered.”

“I cast a spell by accident,” he said, denial swarming up to meet him like locusts. Merlin was not the best at confronting himself. “I literally had a thought, and then my magic just – it just happened, out of nowhere.” It hadn’t done that since he was a child, he didn’t say.

“Were you hurt?”

Merlin blinked twice at the question. “No. Um. I’m not sure anyone else noticed. It’s like a string of light appeared, leading me here. I don’t know what to call it.”

“A spell to track,” Gitta murmured. “It’s worrisome that this is happening so quickly, but I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

Sarcasm rose up and got sat on, for the sake of his hide. “I’m sorry, what is?”

“I warned you that the bond would cause this loss of control and power, now that it is no longer dormant,” she said this with less accusatory flair than he thought she would. “I imagine it’s quite alarming, but that _is_ why I recommended we consecrate it. Such fluctuations will only grow more erratic.”

Erratic was not good. Erratic meant keeping an extra eye out for those skin-tingling moments before a storm. Erratic meant possibly hurting other people. Maybe even accidentally revealing his most innermost secret to exactly the wrong person. The most wrong person.

Erratic meant a lot of things.

“But … I can’t.”

“You have said so,” Gitta did not sound very sympathetic, but there was a lot less impatience this time around. “Which just means you’ll have to work around it. Do you know any meditative practices? You mentioned you had some training.”

Merlin chewed and stared off to the side, feeling remarkably off-kilter and not very sure of himself for the first time in a long while. “No.”

The redhead pursed her lips, before one corner curled downward, considering. “Then I will help you learn.”

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

As Edith foretold, the feast’s centerpiece was an enormous roasted boar. It was decorated with candied fruits, whole apples and pears, and there were charred vegetables aplenty. Pheasant was also provided, honey-glazed and absolutely mouth-watering. There were even meat pies, and whispers of bread pudding for later. Spiced wine flowed from pitcher to cup, and it was genuinely rather merry.

Considering it might be the one time he’d get a chance to enjoy a feast as it was happening, it was a real pain that Merlin couldn’t enjoy himself.

Being able to recognize when a bit of uncontrollable magic was about to occur was helpful. Truly. Gitta had taught him efficiently and well, and he’d learned the signs of instability enough to know when to flee the room if needed.

It was not, however, at all calming. In fact, he felt like he was sitting on spikes because of the sheer uncertainty.

He was sat between a member of the Brocéliande council, a man by the name of Talos who Merlin recognized as the same one who had calmed Gitta earlier in the day, and Gwaine – who was absolutely relishing every aspect of the celebration.

“You should really indulge, m-Ambrosius – the wine is hardly watered down at all.”

[ ](https://imgur.com/sCub4GZ)

“I shouldn’t.” He had not seen himself drunk out of his gourd, and now was not a good time to find out what he was like when that happened.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you so nervous?”

 _I’m a walking time bomb_. “I don’t know what fork to stab myself with,” he said instead, which earned him a guffaw from Gwaine and an indelicate snort from Talos on his left.

“Come now, etiquette isn’t so terrible when there are more working folk than kings present. If you were at something more formal, this would be so much less fun,” Gwaine insisted.

Merlin smiled, and he was sure it looked more like a grimace. It certainly felt like it.

“Look its simple….”

The knight’s well-meaning yet tremendously complicated explanations of who was allowed to say what, when and how during far less jovial gatherings was interrupted by King Lot standing up from his seat. Arthur sat next to the man, but his expression was inscrutable.

So strange, to not be next to him. By now Merlin would have known exactly what was going on in Arthur’s head. Instead, he was left to wonder.

“Esteemed guests, I thank you,” King Lot boomed. “You have joined me here tonight to celebrate a new beginning in Essetir. Lord Agravaine,” he raised his goblet to the man in question, who had sat himself next to Arthur. “I have deeply enjoyed your conversations, and learned so much.”

Agravaine, whom Merlin couldn’t remember hearing converse about anything remotely interesting, bowed his head with a unabashed smile.

“And of course young Prince Arthur,” Lot continued. “A man I respect, and expect great things from – my gratitude to you is immense for accepting my invitation. I know it was sudden,” and there was a speckle of laughter amongst Essetir’s court. “But it means quite a bit to know I have your attention.”

Arthur wore an old face at this praise, one Merlin recognized from earlier in their relationship as Royally Smug. But it was practiced, and used only when needed these days. “The roast boar certainly helped,” Arthur joked.

Laughter rose up again from all and sundry. King Lot chuckled as well. “It is not the most impressive display I have reserved for tonight,” he revealed, allowing a bit of mischief into his voice.

He clapped his hands twice.

Out of the shadows behind those seated, dancers seemed to appear out of thin air, their movements entirely silent. Perhaps not dancers – but acrobats – their steps light as they flipped into the air.

Merlin hadn’t seen such a grandiose display, at Camelot or anywhere else, and stared along with the rest as the entertainers moved like water. Seamlessly bending and twirling.

There was another itch along his spine, just as one of the dancers murmured a word of power, and fire bloomed into the semi-dark of the grand hall. The sparks took shape, petals forming in the flames to create a rose – which then turned to wisps of smoke. Gasps of delight rang out from most of Essetir’s court, while shock remained the most common expression amongst Merlin’s own party.

Immediately, his eyes squinted, searching – and found those same silver bracelets dangling from every arm. He could feel Talos tense up, and watched him frown out of the corner of his eye.

The show continued, in spite of everything. Fire was the main element on call, but one of the acrobats conjured water, and turned it into a sculpture of ice. It took the shape of Essetir’s crest, a long powerful serpent that found purchase on the cold stone floor and held fast, maw ferociously agape. When the dancers came back together in one final pose, most of the room erupted in enthusiastic ovation.

The warlock was nudged on both sides, as the group from Brocéliande clapped in muted fashion and Gwaine gave an astonishing holler of appreciation. It startled him out of his stupor, and while he couldn’t find it in him to applaud, he stretched his neck around to get a glimpse of Arthur.

Who wasn’t looking very angry. No. Perhaps amused? Whatever Arthur’s original impression, it had long since passed over for a far more palatable expression. He was even clapping along with everyone else (Lord Agravaine and the other knights taking their cue from their prince, in proper fashion – Gwaine not included).

Merlin twitched in annoyance. Unsettled, he tried to focus on the table before him, but all appetite had vanished. There was a prickling underneath his skin, and he only just noticed his hands were balled into fists against his thighs.

“What did you think?” King Lot inquired eagerly of his main guest as his entertainers vanished back into the shadows. Either the man was obtuse, or this was a very well-coordinated affront. Considering what he had gleaned thus far, Lot did not seem the sort to miss important details. Details such as Camelot’s long-standing, very negative outlook on magic in all its forms.

At his question, the excited chatter dimmed.

Arthur, to his credit, only seemed a little stiff. The smile on his face was definitely the ‘I’m Weighing My Options’ one – the same one Merlin used to glimpse before a towel (or something much more solid) was thrown at his head. “I’m not sure that was meant to impress me or insult me,” he said rather bluntly.

King Lot laughed into the abrupt silence. “Your highness! Of course it was meant to impress you. An insult would look remarkably different, I assure you.”

Arthur didn’t seem wholly convinced. But as he wasn’t leaping from the table, sword at the ready, King Lot and his vassals appeared pleased enough by his response.

The king of Essetir clapped once again, and this time a small band of musicians filed out onto the main floor. The ice serpent endured as a centerpiece, and they clustered around it, quickly settling.

Music began after a moment, easing the tension on at least half of the room’s occupants, and Merlin stood abruptly. “Pardon me,” he muttered, barely remembering to excuse himself before he fled to one of the balconies, desperate for fresh air.

Another set of eyes watched him leave.

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[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

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Following Merlin was an uncomfortable habit. Arthur realized he’d developed it at least a year ago, and hadn’t been able to shake it. So rarely did he see his servant – his friend – shaken or unwilling to roll with the punches that those moments conjured an unprecedented level of protectiveness. It spurred him into immediate concern. Which then was followed by admittedly clumsy attempts at rectifying whatever had gone awry.

It was stupid, he thought. Or perhaps it was just the specter of his father’s teachings that said so.

“I can’t believe you aren’t in there enjoying the wine.”

To his surprise, Merlin hardly flinched. Arthur tried again. “I thought you spent an awful lot of your spare time at the tavern, though I have admittedly never seen you drunk. Have I?”

Merlin’s (blonde!) head tilted back. He looked particularly strained when he smiled. “I have an amazing hangover cure at the ready. Hasn’t Gaius shared that gem with you yet?”

“No, he hasn’t. He doesn’t pamper me like he does you.”

“You call that pampering?” Merlin’s voice arched into the heavens. “I do not want to know what you’d consider cruelty.”

Perhaps he had different definitions. “Did that little demonstration spook you?” Arthur cut to the chase. “I thought you were made of tougher stuff.”

Merlin _tsked_. “No. It didn’t spook me.”

And perhaps that was the truth. The look in the other man’s eye did not speak of fear. “…You’re angry?”

“I’m – yes. I’m angry.”

It was no mystery as to why. Or at least, not to Arthur. “You’re thinking of those bracelets.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I haven’t _stopped_ thinking about them.” In fact, it was a miracle he hadn’t exploded with accusations towards Lot right then and there. But he needed to play his cards right, or all of this could swiftly go to pieces. “I’ll let Lot have his fun at my expense and confront him later, before we leave. If then.”

“ _If_ then?” Merlin’s voice snapped through the open air like a whip. “Is there a circumstance where you _wouldn’t_?”

Arthur wasn’t quite expecting this level of vehemence, but then this was Merlin. He of the soft heart and abrupt lack of nuance when there were people who needed help. No matter the cost to himself. It was admirable even when it was absurd.

“Yes,” Arthur said slowly, words quieter in case they carried too far. “It appears to be systemic. I cannot necessarily change such a practice through conversation alone, and this is not the time to attempt anything otherwise. We are vastly outnumbered, and not as informed as I would like.”

Merlin looked like he wanted to retort. Instead, he bit his cheek and looked back down at the ramparts. Essetir’s castle had been returned to its former formidable stature, that much was certain.

“I can’t believe this used to be my home,” Merlin finally muttered, as if speaking to no one. “Sure I’d never been here, to this castle or the lower town, but – Cenred was my king once, even if I barely knew he existed. And now my mother lives under this one’s rule.” He didn’t say ‘man’ – even the word ‘one’ seemed to rhyme with ‘mud’ somehow. “It’s obscene.”

Arthur sympathized. He would never tell Merlin this unless under extreme duress, but Hunith held a special place in his heart. She was a good mother. And he, a good son.

He wondered what that kind of consistency felt like.

“I’m sorry Merlin,” Arthur said, words coming out embarrassingly soft for his liking.

“Gitta told me it feels like having part of your soul under someone’s thumb, like you’re never quite yourself,” Merlin said, still glaring daggers at the stones below. “I can’t imagine it.”

A bit of Arthur – the part that he tried to strangle to death every morning – bristled at the mention of the Brocéliande priestess. She really had taken to Merlin, regardless of her natural perfunctory nature. There was a soft spot there for him, it was very clear. He wasn’t sure Merlin had noticed.

“She’s a little sweet on you.”

He did _not just say that aloud_. Hell’s bells; was he _drunk_?

“I mean,” he continued, urgently trying to rearrange the conversation away from the sudden bout of awkward. “She’s very protective of you.”

Merlin turned to him, staring with half-lidded eyes. Arthur felt a small hitch in his lungs. “Don’t joke. She’s just worried about my whole ‘connection’ situation.”

“You haven’t had any … strangeness happen, have you?”

At this question, and to Arthur’s relief, Merlin barked a laugh. It did sound tight around the edges, but that was probably the residual stress. “Nothing as strange as what we just witnessed; I promise.”

Still unnerved by their previous topic, Arthur was eager to accept this as the truth. “You’ll let us know if you notice anything unusual?” A beat. “Well, more unusual than you normally are.”

His manservant, dressed in splendor, huffed a small laugh. It seemed oddly resigned. “Sure.” And that sounded terse.

Arthur suddenly felt flat-footed. What had just changed?

“Merlin – ”

“Don’t worry about me Arthur,” Merlin insisted, now earnest. There were too many emotions for the prince to follow. “I’ll let you know, I promise.”

Arthur watched him return to the feast, a fresh coating of unease painting the inside of his chest.

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[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

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_“It is important to breathe,”_ Gitta had told him. _“Deep measured breaths. Focus on the core of your power. That inner knowledge. An unwavering instinct. Do not succumb to distraction; do not let the outside world control your emotions_.”

Easier said than bloody done.

Hopefully he hadn’t made Arthur upset by abandoning their conversation so brusquely, but he couldn’t stop himself. The tingling had progressed from mild irritation to full-blown heat. A burning sort of sensation, but without the immense pain he would have expected. Instead, it just pushed out against his frame, making his skin feel tight. Like a sprain, but all over.

It wasn’t comfortable, to say the least.

With much regret, he sat himself gingerly at the long table, ignoring the quick look Gwaine sent him.

And apparently just in time for Lot to command their attentions once again.

“I must say,” he began. “If it isn’t too much to impose – Lady Gitta, your magic is not known to us here in Essetir.” It wasn’t a question yet, but Merlin’s heart sunk to hear the cusp of a demand.

“Would you share with us some of your talent?”

The priestess rose from her seat, carrying poise without peer. “You wish for us … to demonstrate our skills?” she asked in turn. There was an unmistakable coolness to her voice.

For some reason, her voice sounded distant to Merlin. The heat under his skin grew.

 _In and out. In and out_.

“If you would,” King Lot said, words honeyed.

Gitta bowed her head. Then took the hands of her compatriots on either side. Merlin almost didn’t notice that Talos was holding a hand out to him as well.

 _Shite. In and out. In and out_.

Merlin took it, nervousness obvious, and stood with the rest. He did not look in Arthur’s direction.

“This is a simple resonance spell,” Gitta could barely be heard over the blood rushing in his ears.

 _Stay calm_ , he told himself without any sense of it whatsoever.

“ **Windumær**.”

Five voices echoed into the hall. Merlin didn’t have time to inhale before he felt the spell capture him. The pressure he’d been fighting expanded in his chest, bursting his lungs and swallowing a gasp of relief and pain. He could feel the heat behind his eyes, and knew he was finally doing the one thing he’d hoped to do – just not under these circumstances.

The control he usually had no trouble finding, however, was not present. That heady, harsh sound in his ears turned to a high-pitched ringing. Magic leaked from him like an overfilled waterskin, spilling everywhere. He couldn’t rein it in. Dazed he let go of the only hand keeping him tethered to the earth, and drifted sideways. Maybe someone yelled his name – his real name – but he couldn’t tell who it was.

His head was full of butterflies. He could feel his hands lift to his face and faintly, he realized there was wind swirling around him, stone cracking beneath every footstep.

Was he walking? Faintly he realized the ice sculpture was in the wrong shape, and corrected it with a thought. Then he continued – aimless – until:

 _Come home_.

Merlin gasped.

_Come home, Emrys._

Resistance was met with a wall of power unlike he’d ever felt before. There was no chance of escaping this will. With one last, choked cry, Merlin tried to plant himself in the castle stone. To remain here.

And without hesitation, the world exploded.


	4. Son of the Sea and Earth and Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Elmet strikes an accord with it's prodigal son, Arthur considers his most recent betrayal, Lot reveals an unfortunate secret, and Merlin comes home.

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

It was so calm here.

The ruckus of having been dragged, not so much kicking and screaming, but definitely yelling, to this place had long since faded. Evacuated, really, the minute he was settled amidst a lush field underneath the stars.

In truth, Merlin had never felt like this before. Serene. Tranquil. He couldn’t remember why there had ever been cause for concern, actually. Not when the earth made footholds and paths for him as he traveled, when the air kept itself warm or cool as need be, not when the water was so clear and bright.

No longer was this place the desolate wasteland of Merlin’s occasional nightmares – it had been completely transformed.

Life was dirty. In every village, in every kingdom, living was a task brutal and short. It was wrought with pain; a sorrow that keened with every lost babe or unnecessary accident. With every disease or drought. Merlin knew life could be no other way. There wasn’t anything one could do to fix such things; no human power that could change this.

 _You are not human. You are one with us. You can change._ The words were a gentle sigh in the back of his mind.

“Yes,” Merlin breathed as he climbed, walked, drifted, eyes glassy. Magic burned through him, skin glowing under the remaining shadows. That hair previously be-glamoured faded back to its natural darkness, curled and fluttering unfettered about his neck.

 _It is what we are for. For you, we are all you will ever need. Bring your love. Bring your people. Bring them home to us_.

Elmet. A land held in enchantment and tended by those born of magic. It was a perfect place to rebuild, to give sanctuary to all wayward souls. Those hurt irrevocably by Uther’s purge. Those chained by others who were little better.

Wasn’t that what he’d been born for?

A niggle of doubt.

_You are ours too._

“No,” he said faintly, apologetic.

 _You are ours_.

There was a strong tug at his navel, pulling him closer. A familiar tower loomed in the distance, and there were no signs of wyverns this time. He appeared to be alone here.

And yet not quite, judging by the voices lingering in his head.

All he could do was move forward, still dazed. Energy continued to seep out of his every pore. Whatever control he thought he had over his power had completely vanished.

“What do you want of me?” he whispered into the air, hazy as if from sleep.

There was no answer.

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[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

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To say that the feast dissolved into chaos would be an understatement.

Golden light had enveloped the entire hall, a sight so blinding Arthur could barely make out Merlin in the epicenter. The walls quaked as the other man moved, as if each step shook the earth.

When everything had faded, and Arthur could hear again, he saw the ice serpent in the middle of the hall had become a dragon.

Arthur’s estimation of Lot radically shifted in the span of time it took for the man to stand from his seat and order the flabbergasted delegates from Brocéliande to be imprisoned.

He felt terrible that he hadn’t been able to form an objection fast enough, but in his defense.

In his defense….

What. What had happened?

Merlin had just, what, exploded? Disintegrated into thin air? No – not possible. Never.

The only person who could give him any answers had been locked away in the expansive prisons below. Before he could face his knights – Gwaine and Lancelot both barely kept in their skins by his promise to uncover what had happened – he had to know the truth.

Arthur fought not to be shaken. All the worst predictions had to be set aside in order to maintain his composure. King Lot did not hold him or his immediate company culpable, but the ice was very thin. Then again, that went both ways.

He just couldn’t show it.

Agreeing to have a guard present when he visited was a good idea. If only because that tenuous grip on his temper would have shattered in the face of an ashen Gitta, slumped against her cell walls, her wrists encircled in gleaming silver cuffs.

“Explain,” he hadn’t so much demanded as begged. “Is…is he … gone?”

He couldn’t say ‘dead.'

Gitta’s words echoed back to him as Arthur now paced in his room.

_“No – he has been taken,” she said immediately, urgent to put out the flames of terror that must have shone apparent in his eyes. “The bond forced itself to fruition. Elmet decided it would not wait for his decision, as I predicted it would.”_

_“Why was – how did it happen like that? I don’t understand. Are the Perilous Lands so powerful?”_

_“You misunderstand.”_

_He spied her chains, hands bound in that strange silvery metal – deceptively strong for such a delicate item. Her fellow countrymen and women were similarly trussed up, looking fairly resigned to their fate. Arthur’s stomach curdled at the sight._

_It did not suit them. None of this did._

_He turned his gaze to the side, carefully eyeing the guard placed by the door at the far end of the hall. “What do you mean?” he asked, quietly, still confused – still dazed by what had happened._

_“I’m telling you this now because I have no choice. I am committing a personal treachery, as we speak, because the importance of having you know the truth now outweighs all other caution.”_

_Harried by the loss of his manser- friend (Merlin was a friend and Merlin was gone), Arthur rounded on the priestess with a sharp look. “Talk.”_

_Gitta took a breath to steady herself. “Merlin has always had magic, your highness. His connection to Elmet and its land notwithstanding. It was partly the cause of the unrest we traveled to warn you of, and partly why he never would have otherwise noticed the bond himself. He has too much, you understand? He_ is _too much. I have never seen the likes of him, and may never again.” Gitta let out a frustrated noise. “I barely understand how someone like him is even possible. But he is. And now his own stubbornness has forced the Perilous Lands to abscond with him.”_

_There was a roaring in his ears. He was not processing her words. Not entirely. “Why … why would this even happen?”_

_She bit the inside of her cheek. “He was stubborn. I told him to accept the bond, to acknowledge the tether he was incapable of severing on his own. But he refused.” She looked him in the eye. “He refused the bond for_ you _, Prince Arthur.”_

_Something hollow was opening up inside his chest. “This is not possible.”_

_Gitta felt similarly, per the pained look on her face. “Sire, I understand –”_

_“No,” Arthur’s voice made a sound that would have been a chuff had he been in better humor. It was an empty version of mirth. “You do_ not _.”_

_Her face closed, expression flinty. “I understand what it is to be hunted for nothing more than how I was made. I was not born in Brocéliande. I have suffered at the hands of people like your father; I have lost my family, my home. Everything I had ever loved.” The cutting sound of her voice shook him, but she stopped abruptly. There was silence again, and then a deep sigh._

_“…Forgive me sire, if I find myself sympathizing with your friend. He has never been able to be himself. Not even around you.”_

_It was another betrayal, was what he could not say. It was another lie, another farce. His father, his sister. And now Merlin – and by extension Gaius. Possibly others he held close._

_Did no one believe in him? Did no one trust in him to do what was right?_

_Had he ever given them enough reason to?_

_He lied to me for years! I would have – I would have protected him,” and despite the fury bubbling under his skin, Arthur could not find it in himself to lie further. “He is my friend first – my servant second – he has been so for longer than I have ever bothered to clarify. My father’s laws – my_ father _be damned – he is my_ friend _.”_

_T_ _o his horror, his eyes felt wet. He turned his head sharply away._

_The priestess seemed to hesitate, but put a hand on his arm, awkwardly through the bars of her cell. “He is_ your _friend also. And right now he may be safe. But without him, I fear_ we _are in some manner of danger.”_

Arthur stopped pacing and sat abruptly on the bed, rubbing his temples.

Things here were not as they seemed. Did he believe that Essetir was now a cooperative society, integrating magic like it had never been as similarly persecuted as Camelot? No. Arthur was not fooled. Every sorcerer or witch was held to an invisible (and not-so invisible) standard, but he couldn’t find the fencing that kept them caged. Forced bondage? Societal pressure? He couldn’t help but notice there was something amiss. Between the compliant jugglers and dancers – the exceedingly obedient healers and musicians – Arthur knew that Lot hadn’t commanded that kind of loyalty naturally. Not within the short time between him fighting for this throne and achieving it. Whether by obvious magic or a general iron fist (with possibility of blackmail), he had everyone surrounding him on a tight leash.

And Merlin had magic and had been lying about it for years.

Shite.

His plan for thinking about literally any of the other dire issues on hand was not working.

He wanted so desperately to be angry. It would have been easier. To simply rage and take down this threat that had been hiding under his nose with swift and brutal justice.

But it wouldn’t be justice. And Merlin wasn’t a threat. He’d saved Arthur enough times on his own merit, most of which hadn’t been through _magic_ , but simply telling him what he’d needed to hear. Even when Arthur dismissed him, Merlin came back. Would always come back. Despite their disastrous first meeting, and all the regrettable head trauma, Merlin had somehow found Arthur worthy of his undying loyalty.

Yet, not his trust.

Arthur realized he had to talk to someone else about this, or he would likely boil and evaporate his remaining reason away.

But.

Priorities.

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[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

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“Is he dead?”

This was the first thing out of Gwaine’s mouth when Arthur entered the stables. It was safer than meeting inside the castle, where the walls had eyes and ears.

“The high priestess doesn’t think so,” Arthur responded, eyeing Lancelot in turn. The other knight had never looked so dour, and frankly he wondered if there was perhaps going to be a coup in Essetir if he wasn’t able to find a more diplomatic solution.

The trouble is, he wasn’t sure he had one.

“What happened to him? Is he safe?” Gwaine continued, as fierce as Arthur had been not very long ago, when his world was still in its proper place.

“As far as she’s concerned, he’s safer than any of us at the moment.” The prince paced closer. “And certainly safer than she is.” He looked to Gwaine, and hoped that the urgency the other man was feeling appeared shared. “Our Brocéliande guests, for the moment, take precedence.”

Gwaine looked as though he’d start yelling, but Lancelot finally spoke, interrupting what would have been a very impressive tantrum. “There’s something else.”

“There is.”

The explanation for his immediate concerns went quick. Arthur shared the main purpose of those bracelets, the conclusions drawn, and how fast King Lot leapt to find an excuse to shackle the only magic-users within the castle to be locked up and neutralized. “He claims to be magnanimous towards magic, but it is a façade.”

Gwaine, whose stormy expression had not ebbed, grit his teeth. “Why on earth do you care what he does with magic-users?”

In another plane of existence, Arthur could imagine himself responding poorly to that question. As a matter of fact, it lived on his tongue, just behind his teeth, eager to burn down any presumption of sympathy toward magic in its wake. But he thought of the last look he’d caught on Merlin’s face before the light grew too blinding to see him clearly. Despair bright as his eyes and liberation stretched across his cheeks. He thought about how drained and empty Gitta appeared under the hold of her shackles, smaller than she’d ever seemed, cradling her hands in her lap.

He thought of Morgana and her desperation, her fear, her anger. The look of triumph she had worn was revisited now from his nightmares – was it all simply hate? Or was there that same, painful reprieve that he’d seen in Merlin, lying underneath the surface?

He thought of his father, and what kind of reaction he would have had in Arthur’s place.

He thought of the lie he’d been told about his mother’s death.

Arthur had been distinct in his aversion to explain himself. But he didn’t have the strength to hold his cards so close to two men he trusted with his life.

“I … have to care.” There was a concerted effort to keep his expression calm, but Arthur had no idea if it was working. “There are things I know now – but, no, even before I knew them,” he continued, not sure-footed in the slightest. “I know that magic cannot be wholly evil,” he spoke these words as if saying them for the first time. Which he was. Yet they had been held captive in his heart for too long to give him relief when he let them escape.

Why did he feel worse for it?

Perhaps it was because his current audience didn’t include the people he needed to say this to.

“You truly believe this sire?” Lancelot’s voice broke through the mire of his thoughts. “Without doubt?”

Arthur wished desperately that he could find comfort in doubt. “I am certain of it.”

Gwaine’s seething had decreased, but the intensity in his stare only seemed to heighten. “Merlin – is he really safe?”

Arthur felt something loosen in his chest. (Thank all the gods, including the ones he didn’t know about, that none of his father’s knights were with him for this venture). “I do trust Gitta to know. It’s the land – Elmet. It appears to have summoned him there. For what, I cannot say. Seeing as though it considers him its king, or owner – I’m not sure what you’d call it – I doubt very much it wishes to cause him harm.”

“We’re considering tracts of land to … have feelings?”

“At this point,” Arthur sighed. “I have no more capacity in me for surprise.”

Credit to Lancelot, but even his brooding expressions seemed to fit him. When the gloom didn’t cede from the other man’s eyes, Arthur decided to poke. “You have more to say?”

Alarm flit across Lancelot’s face. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he offered, clearly not certain. “It – I just happened to see your uncle with King Lot before the feast; they were speaking but was not privy to their topic of conversation. He looked like he was ready to travel somewhere. But then when the feast began, he was still here. It was odd,” the man rubbed his neck. “I don’t know why it stood out to me.”

At Arthur’s silence, Lancelot seemed to grow more nervous. “Obviously I would not accuse Lord Agravaine of anything untoward,” Gwaine’s snort in the background went unheeded. “It merely puzzled me.”

“It is puzzling,” he conceded. This news seemed an innocuous detail, but Arthur felt like it mattered. He wasn’t sure why. “I will keep it in mind. For now, we need to focus on making sure our newest allies are not executed at dawn. Or worse.”

“Have any plans, princess?” Gwaine’s voice had stopped thundering, which was a good sign.

“Very few,” Arthur admitted. “All terrible.”

“Just another day working with you then,” the roguish knight decided with a shadow of his usual smirk. “Let’s just work down the list, eh?”

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[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

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Now that he wasn’t rushing to save Arthur from certain death, he had the time and presence of mind to view the crumbling ruins in greater detail. Even in the current gloaming, Merlin could see that the original structure had to have been massive. Not as intimidating as Essetir’s fortress, nor as modern as Camelot’s, but large enough to be impressive.

His brain still felt full of downy feathers. He hadn’t really kept track of time after he’d been called here, and wasn’t sure he was actually physically present. For all he knew, he was simply having some kind of vision, and his real body was passed out on the floor of that main hall. It felt like that had happened days ago.

Merlin found a fruit tree growing out of the base of the tower, and absconded with several pears when he realized hunger was still a thing he could feel.

Perhaps he really was here.

Whatever was guiding him didn’t give him much in the way of verbal instructions. Perhaps this was because it knew that Merlin didn’t have it in him to absorb a lot of fine detail. The fog around his head was his magic going haywire. Not in a chaotic, painful way – not like before. But as if the lid had gotten blown off and he was lackadaisical about finding a new one, not wanting to stuff all of himself back into the small fleshy container of his human body.

He frowned at his robes and absently ran a hand down his front. The fabric shifted obediently, rich teal turning darker and coarser under his fingertips. A return to his usual outfit, red scarf curling around his neck. A purple shirt. Something that was unquestionably him.

He’d missed being himself.

Climbing the stairs seemed to help clear his mind a bit, and the first person he thought of after Arthur was Gitta. Were they all safe? Had his display ruined everything?

Truly he felt guilty about not heeding her warnings earlier. But with Lot’s invitation arriving so soon after, there simply hadn’t been time. Or maybe she could have transported them there and back again without issue. He had never asked – though she had also never pressured him.

Surely Arthur would know the truth by now.

Gitta might have lied for him in less dire straits, but she was a pragmatic woman. If Arthur was keen to know, she would tell him.

The thought made him stop in his tracks, closing his eyes to breathe in and out deliberately.

_You are safe here._

That voice again. Merlin had enough of his usual vim and vigor returned to glare up at the ceiling of the stairwell he had been aimlessly climbing.

“I am not safe if my friends aren’t safe,” he said, feeling foolish for doing so aloud. His feet started moving again.

_You are more than yourself. All of you is safe._

He dared not try to argue with this mystical half-talk. Kilgharrah had given him enough circuitous speeches to last Merlin more than a lifetime of that sort of nonsense.

As he was distracted by thoughts of the dragon, his body halted. Somehow, he’d walked into a room filled with old, decaying furniture, cobwebs covering every corner. Nearer to the small window, an enormous metal bowl sat on a modest pedestal. It was empty but for dust.

Collecting himself, Merlin recognized what it was. An illustration of it had been in one of Gaius’ books; a scrying bowl.

Technically one could scry with anything that held water. Even a puddle, if one were desperate. But when an object was specially made for such use – and Merlin’s fingers gently found the soft indentations of lettering along the rim – it could amplify the initial spell several times over.

Mindlessly, he conjured water into his hand and let it fill the bowl, cleansing it of dirt. In the fading sun, the light reflected and scattered across the dark stones.

_Take us into you._

“I am not yours,” Merlin said with no hesitation. “I belong to nothing. To no one but whom I choose. And you were not my choice.”

_We will perish without you._

Of course.

“Well. I don’t _want_ to do that,” he nearly stammered. “I just can’t be the one to … be your keeper in the long term.” Gods was he really talking to a voice in his head?

The final lid on the coffin was that this wasn’t the first time he’d asked himself that question.

After the question was posed, a long silence reigned. Merlin allowed himself to wait, still numbed by the sheer resonant energy all around him. He placed his hands over the bowl and murmured the spell he’d learned from the books back home.

The surface of the water shimmered silver.

_You must help us find our king, if you will refuse us._

“I can do that,” Merlin’s voice was softer as his attention drifted.

 _Then accept our bond. We will aid you, and leave you, when the time is right_.

It sounded ideal for the time being. Especially since he had somewhere else to be right now, and didn’t have time to negotiate specifics. Surely that wouldn’t come back to bite him.

Would it?

 _We would not deceive you_.

Oh good, he didn’t have to talk out loud to no one. Wish he’d known that a bit earlier.

To his surprise, he didn’t have to call out a request to scry for what he wanted. Everything seemed to be moving through instinct, like when he was younger. Less control, but far more ease of access. Anything he wanted to do merely required that he think of it. Effort of will had lowered drastically.

He would worry about that later.

On the surface, the silvery haze shifted, and Merlin watched as future events began to unfold before him. Flashes of yelling, words and voices familiar. He gripped the edge of the bowl, knuckles whitening as King Uther shimmered into view.

_“You will die as you should have decades ago,”_ and that was Agravaine’s voice. His hand raised to Uther’s throat, choking the life from him. _“And now Arthur will know the truth of what you’ve done. How much you’ve stolen – from him, from your people. From me.”_

The scene changed.

_“I know, little starling, I know,”_ King Lot soothed, holding a delicate hand. _“You wish to be free. But what did you do with that freedom? No, I’m afraid a woman has no place to rule, not with magic. You need a firm hand, that’s all_.” His hands finished clasping a second silver cuff around the woman’s wrist as she shuddered. _“With me, you will be more powerful than you ever could have managed on your own.”_

Morgana’s face listed into view, eyes dulled with pain, skin sallow from malnutrition. _“I will never be truly yours, monster.”_

 _“It takes one to know one,”_ Lot responded, coy. _“But you are right. Far too willful for simple restraints. No, I have another method to get what I want.”_

And another.

_“He has an entire army! Unless we break our sorcerers out of their prison, and free them, we are lost,”_ Gwaine argued, blood splattered across his cheek.

“ _We have no way of getting back into the fortress we just fought our way out of,”_ Arthur’s face swam to the forefront. The back of Lancelot’s head veered in and out of view. They appeared to be on guard, backs to each other amidst a hoard of chaos. “ _We need to get back to Camelot at this point, and bring reinforcements. Lot wants complacency or war – nothing in between._ ”

[ ](https://imgur.com/sc2ATNq)

Merlin threw himself out of the spell, gasping for air. As soon as he did so, the bowl’s surface turned tranquil once more, it’s visions hidden behind the veil.

Gods. That couldn’t have been true. Any of it!

_It is. It will be._

“Why did you show me such things if you wished to keep me here?” Merlin sobbed. He had felt the hollowed-out sensation of losing his magic, the hand around his throat as it stole his life. The ache of a lost cause.

 _We want what you want._ The voice persisted, as calm as ever. _Freedom. Protection. Love. It is not for us to bind you here, but to give you a home. That is all we have wanted. Curtail our power from harming the innocent. Provide shelter. Offer redemption._

He gulped, roughly wiping away tears. “You’d let me go?”

 _You are not our prisoner._ The voice caressed his spirit. _You are our king_.

He didn’t feel like much of one.

 _Then let us show you how_.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

By the time the sun had set properly, Arthur had run around in circles trying to get an audience with Lot without any success. He had been told he would be summoned in the later evening, but that did not abet him. It only meant that Lot had more in mind, and that promise lingered over Arthur like the sword of Damocles.

“You two keep an eye on the priestess and her company,” Arthur insisted, not at all trusting the accommodation provided by a king who enjoyed enslaving half his people. “When I answer Lot’s summons, I will go with my uncle.”

“I haven’t seen Lord Agravaine since the feast,” Gwaine grunted as he stuffed a small leather bag full of provisions. Should things ‘go a big great cock-up’ as he so succinctly put it, he wanted to be prepared to be on the run. Arthur’s lingering hopes of a diplomatic resolution did not seem to be shared by his two knights.

Lancelot, for instance, had helped Gwaine raid the kitchens. The servant, who had brought hot cross buns to Merlin earlier that day, had assisted.

 _“I saw what happened. He might not be a lord, but he’s a good lad,”_ she had whispered. _“Please be careful.”_

If only caution hadn’t fled the moment Arthur had foolishly accepted this damned invitation.

Still, he entered the great hall only a minute behind schedule. Agravaine had not been found for consult, and Arthur hoped that perhaps he had received an invitation separately, thus showing up ahead of him.

But as he glanced around, he did not find his uncle.

“I am sorry for the delay,” King Lot announced his entrance with heavy steps. “I was receiving word from my border guards.”

Arthur reached deep inside his soul and gripped tight his patience. “It is no trouble. I had wanted to speak with you about what happened at the feast – ”

He stopped talking when he realized Lot was accompanied by another. A woman, whose face was hidden behind a white veil, followed in the king’s footsteps like a shadow.

At his stare, the veiled lady’s head turned, tracking his movements; no excess energy wasted in doing so. Arthur couldn’t shake his gaze, feeling a growing unease fester in his gut. He could not see her face. The fabric might have been light and delicate, but it obscured all detail.

Yet Arthur swore he could feel her gaze. He turned his own away, to face King Lot, and ignored the lingering sense of wrong this whole evening was generating.

“…Why do you summon me here at this hour? Is there further emergency?” he asked, maintaining an air of innocent inquiry for the sake of giving the man a chance to play down the oddness of this situation.

“I bring word about the state of your kingdom, your highness,” Lot spoke with a parental gentleness that did not at all match the focus of his words.

The hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stood up. He could hear Lot’s men straighten behind him, plated armor shifting, cloaks dragging sharply against the stone floor.

“Where is my uncle? Did he bring word?”

“He is making preparations for you,” Lot did not clarify, still mild. “My message is informed by him, true, but I must ask. Do you enjoy Essetir?”

Oh, this was not leading up to anything good.

“Your hospitality was plentiful and great,” Arthur spoke the words with perhaps too much care, his pace slow. “We were in want of nothing.”

“That delights me to hear. Tell me, also – I know you are an honorable man, and would never dare mention it before me but – did my collection worry you?” Lot tilted his head with a smile. “Our sorcerers and our witches. Did they give you any cause for concern?”

Arthur could have lived his entire life without answering the question. But he could live with word getting back to his father. He could live, perhaps, by giving Lot the answer he was looking for.

“Never,” he answered, and knew it wasn’t a lie. “I was never given cause.”

Lot beamed at him. At least that was _part_ of what he wanted to hear.

“You really are so much more principled than your father. In your shoes, he might have tried to kill me here and now for so much suggesting magic could help, not harm. That I dared have such people serve him, take him his food. He would consider it an act of war.”

Arthur’s face stayed still as the surface of a lake. Lot would search it and find no sense of shame or remorse, and he frowned slightly. “Surely you don’t think so highly of him as to deny that.”

“I may remind you,” Arthur let his voice grow chilly. “He is not yet dead.”

Lot waved a hand. “Semantics. You are Regent and his final hour draws near. You make your own decisions now, for the benefit of your people.” His expression grew magnanimous once more. “So I thought to offer you something unique, that would bring both our kingdoms great prosperity – even harmony.”

Arthur did not want to hear another word. “Speak your piece.”

Lot gestured, a universal sign for ‘come forth,’ and the veiled lady obeyed. Her dress was lavish, littered with sewn jewels in rich filigree. The veil fluttered as she bowed her head. Arthur’s unease stabbed his gut with rising urgency.

“Show them what you can do, my dear.”

“ ** _Onsundrian_** ,” she responded, the old words languid on her tongue. Her voice echoed against the stones, familiar and not, all at once. The stone beneath their feet turned to sand in an instant.

He could hear the sounds of surprise, tiny clicks of hitched breaths and hands going to their swords.

“Do not worry,” Lot urged, his movements placating, and Arthur realized he was talking to his own men, not just Arthur. “This is merely a demonstration. Continue, child.”

The sands moved around their feet, sweeping into patterns intricate and beautiful. Arthur felt mesmerized, watching the earth move like snakes along the ground.

“ ** _Heofonfýr, beatan_** ,” the woman cried, the end of her words trailing into ominous thunder. Storm clouds began to gather in the high ceiling above their heads.

Arthur knew that voice. He _knew her_.

As quick as nature would provide, lightning struck the sand with a bright flash. As the smoke cleared, Arthur realized that the sand was no longer matte against the light, but glimmering. Just like –

“Glass,” Lot murmured. “Think of it. We can use magic to bring us – our people – prosperity. Instead of languishing in darkness, as your father might have preferred. No longer will we be ignored by the nations across the sea, a sad relic of a dead empire. Finally, we will embrace magic as our own, and truly become great.”

Arthur could barely listen. He was too busy coming to terms with a horrifying certainty.

“Morgana?”

  
[ ](https://imgur.com/SrQ28gO)  


The veiled lady did not answer.

“Once,” Lot answered, not denying Arthur’s revelation. “But I’ve fixed that.”

He said it so casually. Like repairing a broken axel.

“Lot,” Arthur dispensed with formalities, his tone deceptively casual. “That is my sister.”

“I’m aware!” Lot waved an impatient hand. “I know she attempted to have you and your father ousted and murdered. Wicked, truly. When we found her, she was guarding her companion’s body, half-wild. Which is why we took no chance in keeping her under our thumb. She can’t disobey if her soul is housed elsewhere.”

Morgause was truly dead. And Arthur might not be too far behind at this point.

Before he could perhaps decide between committing regicide, damn the consequences, and kidnapping his sister – also damn the consequences – another voice chimed in.

“Arthur – ”

“Uncle,” he nearly cried, desperate for someone else to witness what he was seeing. “Did you hear?”

“I’m aware,” Agravaine said, full of compassion, and Arthur felt his heart sink into ground.

He was shaking his head before he realized he was moving. “No. No you can’t be serious.”

“Your father is dead,” Lot interjected callously. “It was the main reason I summoned you here tonight.”

“I’m afraid so,” Agravaine murmured, obviously trying to soften the blow. “I’m sorry Arthur.”

It was then that his heart seized his lungs and slammed all cognitive capabilities into a dark abyss.

“You are king of Camelot,” Lot said, though with all the buzzing in Arthur’s head, he could barely hear the man. “Now it is your choice to make. Ally with me, and we will conquer and control all manner of fine trade, and the land that will come with it. Magic will no longer be a true threat, but it will not be snuffed out! A tool that powerful hardly needs killing off. But it is much wiser for men like us to meter its use, to have it harnessed productively.”

Agravaine moved closer and put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I know Morgana is your sister, but she is still guilty of treason and attempted murder,” he reasoned. “And Lot is right. Magic can never truly work in tandem with those of us without. Unless we make it so. Alas, that your father was myopic on this one topic, or he might be alive now.”

Anger, at last, rose to the surface, boiling under his skin. He slapped his uncle’s hand away, and ignored Lot. “How can you agree to this?” He asked, eyes blazing. “It is slavery by any other name! And my father – he may not have been right, but it is hardly the time _or place_ to tell me what my duties are to him and my own kingdom.”

Moving aggressively forward, Arthur drew his sword. “I will see your ruin, Lot,” he growled. “No magic. Just blade against blade, or you will shame yourself even further, if that were possible.”

As the words echoed into silence, Lot sighed. “A pity. You cannot see your own potential.” He looked askance to Morgana, who was still as stone. “Do not assist me. No one assist me, or she will strike you down where you stand.”

She remained in place. Not a twitch to show she was anything more than a puppet.

The moment Lot stepped down, sword drawn, Arthur let fury carry his feet forward and struck. Blades clashed, ear-splitting in volume, as Lot was immediately put on the defensive.

“I urge you to reconsider,” the man panted as they circled each other. His thumb rubbed the band of a ring on his forefinger. A nervous tic.

“I am not,” Arthur struck, then parried and leapt away. “Interested! In any of it. If I could I would burn this sickness out of your lands forever.”

“I’m right! I have been right since before Cenred saw the light and botched his foolish ambitions – and I will be right long after you’ve died,” Lot yelled. There was a misstep in his footing, and Arthur sprung in, taking advantage. No retort was necessary when his sword would suffice.

Merciless red bled forth as Lot let out a cry of pain. Arthur’s blade found purchase, burying itself in the man’s shoulder. His own weapon fell from him as his grip loosened in shock, landing in the remaining sand with a soft thud.

Arthur held his gaze, mouth set in a firm line. “I will spare you if you let her go,” he promised, his words a whisper. “Whatever you know about me, I am a man who keeps his word.”

The man’s lips spread in a grin as jovial as the one Arthur first saw him wear. “She would kill me as soon as I did. My fate is sealed.”

Bollocks to fate, thought Arthur.

With a strong tug upward and a shout of effort, cleaved Lot’s sword-arm from his body.

The man’s scream would be burned into his conscience forever, he knew.

But Arthur had no regrets.

“What have you done?”

It was his uncle who had cried out. Arthur would not address him, the flames of his anger still too close to the surface to trust his response. Instead, he turned to his sister, who had limply taken to her knees.

“Morgana, please,” he moved to her, not caring as he heard more swords drawn and other clamoring from Lot’s men. “I wish to cut you free, I do not require any recompense – just tell me how.”

He watched her head struggle to lift. “…Arthur?”

Impatient, he flipped the veil away from her face. “Yes. How do I free you?”

She coughed and gasped. Her face was so gaunt, it just made him angrier. “The chains – can’t be. His ring – please – destroy it. Or just take it from him – I –” Emerald eyes widened then dulled as she fell abruptly silent.

Arthur froze.

“I see you’ve made your choice,” Agravaine’s voice carried, for once clear as a bell. “Lot was right. It is a pity.”

Morgana lifted a hand to draw down her veil once more, but not before her eyes shimmered with a gold light so pale it might as well have been silver. “ **Ástríce**.”

No sooner had she breathed the word, than Arthur was flung backward into the nearest pillar. He was hard-pressed to remember how to land loose-limbed, though his back wrenched in pain. Swallowing to get air back in his lungs, he saw Agravaine drop Lot’s arm, right at the man’s feet as he bled out into the sand. The silver ring was now affixed to his finger.

“Maybe I should have her make one of these just for you,” Agravaine considered, rotating the ring. “Ruling without being in the limelight does have its upsides.”

Arthur tried to gather his spinning head back onto his shoulders, and spared a dark glare in his uncle’s direction.

“Perhaps that would be too much trouble. And I wouldn’t want you to suffer,” the man continued, taking measured steps in Arthur’s direction. “You are Ygraine’s only child. The last remnant of my sister’s legacy. Perhaps….”

Whatever he aimed to proclaim, he was interrupted by a small cry of pain and a loud metallic clanging noise.

Arthur’s eyes snapped to his sister, who was mid-collapse, and saw Lancelot standing behind her. With an iron-wrought pan in one hand, looking amazingly apologetic.

No one even breathed, the absurdity was too great.

Then the doors of the great hall burst open. “Run you idiot!” Gwaine’s voice shouted from the entryway.

Scrambling for his sword, and not waiting to see what fresh hell would come next, Arthur obeyed, Lancelot quick on his heels.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/40FJeag)

₪₪₪

Here he was.

Alone, on the edge of a domain he could control with less than a thought. A land that shuddered as he breathed, whose rivers were his veins. Yet his heart lay elsewhere, and he knew that as long as it continued to, this arrangement would inevitably fall to ruin.

But until then, Merlin could use it to his advantage. And it would let him.

“I can do this,” he told himself, the words a whisper.

The moment he was spirited here, he had felt heat burn under his skin. The connection was unquestionable while he was touching the soil of this – _his_ – land. Behind his eyes, a steady warmth had remained, ceaseless, even while he rested. It brought him an alien sense of comfort; he felt right in his own skin, possibly for the first time in his life. The idea that leaving this place would force him to leave this sensation behind was saddening beyond measure – but he had no choice.

If the scrying he had done was to be trusted, Arthur remained in danger, Morgana remained under thrall, and Camelot ran the risk of ruin if he could not return in time.

He tried not to think that maybe the universe liked being dramatic.

But how would he travel? He had no horse, and frankly the idea of somehow teleporting himself seemed laughable. He didn’t have that kind of precision. Probably didn’t. Either way it was risky. He had never done such a thing before, and he couldn’t afford being wrong with time being of the essence.

Kilgharrah would be helpful, but what he was heading into had too many kingdoms involved. He didn’t want to risk the dragon’s life and freedom just because he’d been too stubborn early on. As long as Uther Pendragon lived, Kilgarrah had a right to some peace far away from anything to do with Camelot.

If only he’d understood what the Fisher King’s gift had really been, the land wouldn’t have forced him near – would not have separated him from his king. Gitta had, once again, been right. (He really was going to apologize. Really. He felt _terrible_.)

Now he had to climb back on his own.

He looked up at the night sky. Then closed his eyes.

 _Help me out. Get me back. I will return to you and set things right. Just let me protect the people I love. Please_.

The earth shuddered; a small tremor that turned thunderous. And then stopped abruptly.

When he opened his eyes, all manner of creature stared back. Wolf, bear and eagle, serkets and griffons – all animals, from the red-breasted robin to large red deer – had gathered in far less time than he felt was possible. Merlin tried not to feel overwhelmed and failed spectacularly.

“Ah.”

  
[ ](https://imgur.com/hEPUQxt)  


The eerie sensation of being watched in the dark, with all those eyes glowing as if lit by torchlight, sent a small shiver down his spine.

Still, the answer to his plea encroached like a glacier in his mind. In unison the animals bowed their heads, or spread their wings. A pledge of protection and guidance, unspoken.

It was simple, he realized.

He would have to run for it.

One step at a time, Merlin felt himself tumble into an outright sprint. The ground beneath him gave him safe passage. The undergrowth parted, the trees bent out of his path, and the crowd of silent watchers kept pace with him, their harsh pants matching his own.

Magic burned under his skin, flaring with a sudden light in the dark.

The world blurred.

After a while, he didn’t really feel like he was running at all.

_He beat wings he knew were his, flying just above the treetops. The moon was bright and full, its light guiding him effortlessly towards his destination._

_The earth beneath him trembled, fierce hoofbeats making the ground crumble underfoot. Harsh bellowing breaths echoed; his head grew heavy with the weight of antlers._

He was going home.

And he was bringing the forest with him.

₪₪₪

[ ](https://imgur.com/dfvepUW)

₪₪₪

They were not winning.

They weren’t losing either. But they were not winning. Arthur knew what winning felt like, and this – in this bloody, tragic mess, with lives already lost – was not that.

Fighting their way out of the fortress had been nothing short of an endurance trial. Arthur was not entirely sure how they did it, but every instance when their luck seemed to turn against them, a miracle occurred and changed the tide. In fact, it reminded him eerily of his many battles when Merlin happened to be present.

Huh.

Gut instinct told him that perhaps they had not been so alone. After all, none of the servants wearing bracelets were prevented from aiding them if they so choose. They just couldn’t harm their masters.

Clever, if true.

As they loped into the nearest thicket, Gwaine was shoulder to shoulder with him. Lancelot alongside. He wished, truly, that all of his company were here. With Agravaine turned against him, he had no idea what might have become of Leon, or Elyan. Or Percival. Hells, he wished that Gwen were not so far out of reach.

That Merlin might be somewhere just behind his shoulder.

He tried not to think it was because he considered these to be his last moments alive. Arthur had been taught not to feel much beyond what it took to survive a battle, but in desperate times what man could hold back thoughts of ‘what if’ or ‘if only.’

“We’re a little outnumbered,” Gwaine was breathing harshly. Arthur could hear the hitch in the other man’s lungs.

“We can’t flee. They have us cornered.”

“Their sorceress will find us in less time, I’m sure, once she wakes,” Arthur muttered, pained to not speak her name aloud.

Lancelot, panting but thankfully unharmed, shook his head. “We just need to wait a little longer.”

“For what?” Gwaine’s words exploded from him in an exhalation. “No one is coming. They’ve got our ambassadors trussed up in enchanted silver or cold iron – or whatever it is, and we couldn’t break them free. No one from Camelot would reach us in time.” He winced and held a hand to his side. “Not for nothing princess, but we’re shite out of luck.”

“I’m not giving up.” Arthur said this in the same way one might utter ‘I’d rather die,’ and perhaps that’s exactly what he meant. “There has to be another way.”

“Your uncle is a real piece of work, by the way,” Gwaine muttered. “But nice job with the pan, Lancelot.”

The man in question winced. “It didn’t feel all that nice.”

“It was the only way,” Arthur said, letting the exhaustion he was feeling seep into his voice. “Look. We can head into the woods. I don’t mind getting lost if it helps them lose our trail.”

“Yes, but then we’ll be lost.”

Arthur spat out a bit of blood. He’d bit his tongue when an Essetir guard had slammed a shield into his face. “I am not going to sit here and pick flowers while my uncle reconvenes Lot’s forces to chase us down.”

He looked to the night sky. The moon had not yet found itself high, and the woods were shrouded just enough that he could barely make out his knights in the dark. “We’ll move further into the woods. They can chase us all the way to Camelot if need be, but I am not – ”

A thrumming sound distracted him. Turning his head, Arthur eyed the woods beyond in suspicion.

Had there been a noise? Or was he still concussed?

“Sire – Arthur,” Lancelot attempted to get his attention. “I can see torches from the main gate. We need to move.”

The dim flicker of distant fire was eclipsed, very suddenly, by a white orb of light. It shot up into the air, absolutely revealing their position.

“Arthur!”

He managed to shake the lead out of his legs just in time to hear that thrumming noise again. It was akin to thunder, but closer to the ground. “Can you hear that?” he asked no one in particular.

“Maybe it’s another spell to call down lightning – let’s not stand around to find out,” Gwaine huffed and pushed Arthur’s shoulders. “Come on!”

The rumbling grew louder. “No wait, I hear it,” Lancelot commented offside. “What is that?”

Arthur would remember the soft quiet that dampened all inner thought until he died, as well as the moment that followed when the forest burst open before them. Cries of all manner of creature deafened him enough to have him cover his ears. The bellowing of a massive red deer buck caught his attention, nearly trampling him as it plowed past. Wolves raced past through the bushes, howling in an eager hunting formation. Birds of prey and carrion feeders alike soared high above before diving into the incoming Essetir formation, unafraid of the torches below.

Their eyes. Every one of them gleamed with gold.

The red buck bellowed again, hanging back to allow the flood of wild animals to surge ahead. Before Arthur’s eyes it rose up on its hind legs and melted away – and like smoke, pooled upward, transforming into a giant eagle owl before disappearing into the haze of now panicking soldiers.

“…Did I hit my head, or are you both seeing this?” Gwaine’s voice could hardly be heard amid the cacophony. He nearly yelped as a whole collection of serkets swanned past, playing catch up with the rest of the summoned herd.

Arthur saw Lancelot’s face morph from confusion to delight. When the other man felt Arthur’s gaze, he matched it, seeming a loss for words.

“Do you know?” the question left Arthur, soft and empty.

But the knight didn’t get a chance to answer.

“ **Edhwierft!** ”

Morgana’s voice was unnaturally loud, but while Arthur prepared himself for a new calamity, he felt no change in the earth, or the air around them.

Instead, that singular eagle owl, who wasn’t an owl at all, cried out and fell out of the sky, falling recklessly toward it’s doom as it began to melt into smoke once again. Or would have had a _griffin_ not swooped in and caught the tumbling form in mid-air.

It landed and dropped the now man-shaped shadow to the field below, which faltered and fell.

Arthur could no longer stand idle, rushing forward into the fray. Gwaine and Lancelot followed close behind, no questions asked.

The crouched silhouette started to look familiar the closer they drew. Shadows melted as the frenetic Essetir torchlight, and Arthur’s eyes adjusted.

Merlin’s eyes turned to him, bright like starlight, and a welcoming smile that wobbled with relief.

Arthur had been near enough to grab his arm before something shifted on Merlin’s face. “Wait,” his friend called out in warning, before Morgana’s voice called out again and their small party was slammed into the ground.

“ _You,_ ” Agravaine rode into view, the word spat from his lips. A strange dome coalesced around him and his few remaining men, making the darkness pearlescent. The presence of it was inexplicable until Arthur saw wolf run into ‘nothing’ at the border of the haze, and scrabble to right itself.

“Incredible. You have magic.”

It was clear he wasn’t talking to Arthur.

“All along, yeah,” Merlin struggled to say, as he was being smushed into the grass and dirt. “Surprise,” he drew the word out, teasing.

Well. At least Arthur would die amused.

“No matter,” his uncle said, though there was a tremor in his voice. Arthur knew it to be fear, and felt a rush of vindictive pleasure flow through him. “I will kill you along with the rest.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Merlin continued, and Arthur noticed there were no more small tremors along his friend’s body.

Agravaine sneered – Arthur could see the man’s face turn up in disgust, even from this distance. Honestly, Arthur was too stunned to process anything that was happening right now.

“And how do you think Arthur will reward your loyalty now?” his uncle – his _uncle_ – called triumphantly. The man hid directly behind Morgana’s manic, cutting winds as they sliced the earth around them outside the barrier. Arthur could barely see her behind the veil as it whipped around her face, but he felt a desperate sadness when he caught how vacant her eyes were. All this rage, but how much of it was commanded – and how much was true?

A swift tilt, and Merlin was on his feet once more. He didn’t even look tired. Agravaine startled back, his horse sensing distress and following suit.

Instead of witty retorts, there was a thunderous roar in response. Sound cracked the air, splintering the ground, and threw the remaining soldiers from their mounts even under the shield’s protection, effectively muting Morgana’s spells and staggering her, bringing her to her knees. Merlin’s eyes glowed the color of molten metal, fury and impatience etched into every part of his face.

“He’s my king whether he’ll have me or not!” His friend’s voice echoed from everywhere at once. “You don’t get to make his choices. You will not cause him further harm.” Merlin reached out a desperate hand. “Morgana – do not let him control you – please!”

That outstretched hand twisted, just so, and Arthur’s own eyes witnessed the silver manacles glow hot and bright in the dark. He heard Agravaine’s shout of dismay as he no doubt realized what was happening.

“You may hate me, but you can hate me on your own terms,” Merlin growled, his words trembling with effort but no less sonorous. Arthur vaguely speculated if that was supposed to be internal commentary.

Still. It was too late to wonder. The metal around Morgana’s wrists started to vibrate and shift, evaporating into the air, one golden particle after another.

The effect was nearly instantaneous. Morgana slumped entirely to the ground, the soft blurry dome around Agravaine and the other remaining soldiers disappearing entirely. As such, the full force of Merlin’s attack slammed into those who were left with a sharp crack.

An entire platoon of men, dismantled in one blow.

Whatever face Arthur was making now, he had no idea. He watched Merlin lower his arms, and turned back around, almost sheepish. Yet gold still burned in his gaze.

“Um. Sorry I was late.”

The last conscious Pendragon didn’t have anything he could say. Instead, Arthur closed the distance between them and put a hand on the back of Merlin’s neck, and bumped their foreheads together not so delicately as soon as he felt his eyes burn.

“Ow.”

“You idiot,” Arthur’s voice quaked. “You enormous clotpole.”

“Still my word,” Merlin seemed to fight against what sounded like terror. Or disbelief.

He didn’t know when he kissed him. He didn’t know when they slid down to the ground, and he didn’t know when his grip turned into a desperate hug. He didn’t know how long they stayed that way.

But Arthur had lost enough today. And Merlin had come home. And that was all that mattered.

₪₪₪

_FIN - for now._

[ ](https://imgur.com/XdjBtVW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of my personal tragedies, there was a lot I had to trim to meet deadlines. BUT. This is one complete story. I definitely have follow-ups planned, exploratory and plot heavy and possibly silly.
> 
> But thank you all for reading. <3


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